Legacy
by bionic4ever
Summary: Jaime reflects back on her life as she faces the imminence of her death. My 2009 NaNoWriMo novel. Dedicated to the members of The Bionic Project, for all of their help and support.
1. Chapter 1

**Legacy**

November 1, 2009

Rudy says it won't be much longer. I know he blames himself, but he really shouldn't. Life is like a dice game – unpredictable and full of risks – and Rudy made it possible for me to have an extra turn, an extra shot at the game. I can never thank him enough for that. It was the rarest of opportunities, glittering in my hands like a butterfly – so beautiful and fleeting that you simply know from the outset that one day it must be released. Obviously, I am not a writer but I'm hoping that one day Steve's and my children will seek answers that maybe (if I can pull enough from the old memory banks and from my diaries) these pages can provide for them.

I'm 'only' 59, which some would state firmly is just too young to die nowadays – and certainly too young to think of leaving a legacy – but I died when I was 26 years old, so the thought isn't as terrifying to me as it is to most people. The genius that brought me back and kept me here for another solid 33 years deserves to be noted and lauded for his accomplishments. Perhaps once Steve and I are both gone, Rudy's work will be able to be recognized and appreciated. My goal is to see that this happens, as well as to let Jenna, Adam and Hannah know how very, _very_ much they were loved and hopefully give them a clearer grasp of exactly who their parents were.

I don't want bionics to be seen as the cause of our deaths, but rather as the catalyst that enabled us to go on living, long after our final dice had been tossed.

* * * * *

Steve always used to tell me that the very first time we met, I had already acquired my 'Jaime-tude'. I remember a chubby little boy who seemed far too cute to be sitting all by himself in the lunchroom. He was older than me and maybe I should've been intimidated, but I was an only child whose parents had revolved their world around their little girl. In other words, I didn't know any better.

He was sitting there with two cheeseburgers on his tray, some potato chips, a banana and a great big cookie. Not to mention two cartons of milk! Naturally, I had to ask him if he was really going to eat all that! (Steve said that my pigtails were swinging and I stuck my tongue out at him, but I'm not so sure he wasn't exaggerating...just a little.) He had no interest in talking to a lowly kindergartener or even acknowledging my existence, so he just kept on eating. And eating. And...eating. He polished off every bit of it and grinned at me like only a naughty eight-year-old can then got up to put away his tray.

I had to do it! I dared him to eat one of _everything_ in the hot lunch line. Hot dogs, french fries, tuna-noodle-slop, corn, peas, peanut butter and jelly, an apple...and chocolate cake. I don't think I really believed he'd try, but I didn't want him to just walk away. Maybe I knew even then that we were _supposed_ to be friends. Or maybe I was just an annoying little brat...?

Anyhow, Steve would _not_ allow himself to be bested by a five-year-old, and back he went, through the lunch line, insisting to the ladies in hairnets that he was really, _really_ hungry. An hour later (no thanks to me), he was also really _really_ sick. Gotta give him credit, though – he did it. He won the dare...and it was twenty years before he told his mother what really happened that day.

Ever since that day, even when we spent long periods of times apart, my life was always intertwined with Steve's. And he covered for me more times than I can count or than I'd like to admit. He taught me how to hit a baseball – and took the blame when it went sailing right through Mrs. McCloskey's big picture window. When he taught me how to climb trees and I promptly fell out of the tree house and broke my arm, he claimed to have dared me to do it. He didn't...but was grounded for weeks afterward. When the bullies on the playground were not so enchanted with my 'Jaime-tude', Steve was there, too – bailing me out before anything too terrible happened.

When the very worst occurred – when I had the accident that should've killed me – Steve was there, as well. When he could do nothing more himself, he persuaded Oscar to step in with all of his power and clout to snatch me away from what the doctors had already proclaimed to be certain death. My trio of heroes (Steve, Rudy and Oscar) were all right there on the day I really _did_ die, once again denying the Reaper his victim and launching me into a brand-new life. I guess the old adage _three strikes and you're out_ is ironically true, at least in my case.

But...these are stories for another day. Rudy tells me I must rest _before_ I feel tired now, so for once in my life I will try to be a good, cooperative patient and do as he asks. Hey, there's a first time for everything!

* * * * *

October 5, 1961

Dear Diary,  
Who does Mr. Steve Austin think he is, anyway? Just because he goes to high school now, he's suddenly too good to talk to me? I just wanted to tell him I got an A on my essay (the one HE helped me write) and he told me to go back to the playground! Then he and his friends all laughed at me as they walked away. I miss him...

October 6, 1961

Dear Diary,  
I think that boys are the strangest things God ever put on this Earth! And Steve Austin can go right to the top of that list! He called me last night to say he was sorry. He said he was happy about my A. But today when I saw him downtown, he waved his hand to brush me away like I was just a fly buzzing around his head to annoy him. I hate him, Diary. I really do.

October 11, 1961

Dear Diary,  
My tennis lessons are going pretty well. The teacher my Mom hired says I have a real knack for it. This weekend, when I was hitting balls against the wall by the old firehouse, Steve walked by. He stopped and watched me for awhile – and I pretended not to notice him. A taste of his own medicine. It serves him right!

* * * * *

November 1, 2009

Steve and I hit a pretty rocky patch when he first entered high school. I understand completely now, but back then I thought my entire world was ending. He was my best friend – how could he treat me that way? He tried his best to make it up to me on weekends and holidays (when his friends weren't around) but I was having none of it! Still pretty big with the 'Jaime-tude', I guess, but he hurt my feelings, dammit!

Thanksgiving of that year was the first time we actually sat down and _talked_ since the big rift. Our families spent four days together at my parents' cabin, so we really had no choice but to call a truce. (Temporarily, anyhow.) I called him a big fat mean old bully, he called me a pony-tailed, snot-nosed brat, then we slugged each other and just got on with the business of being friendly enemies. That is, until something happened that neither one of us saw coming....

* * * * *

November 25, 1961

Dear Diary,  
STEVE KISSED ME!!! I talked him into climbing up to our old tree house because I wanted privacy while I kicked the crap out of him. He's been so mean to me, pretending not to know me unless we're all alone. We called each other a whole bunch of nasty names and then I hit him. He hit me back and we started wrestling around like we used to when we were little, only this time it felt sort of different. Weird. I got kind of out of breath even though we weren't fighting all that hard and then IT happened. He kissed me, right on the lips! I still hate him as much as ever but I have to admit something. It wasn't terrible.

January 8, 1962

Dear Diary,  
There a new boy in my class. He sits right next to me because Mrs. Ames wants me to help him get caught up with the classwork. Me! He's smart, he's funny, he loves dogs and hiking and tennis – and I get butterflies in my stomach every time he talks to me. His family just moved here from Sacramento over Christmas vacation and he doesn't know anybody yet, so I get to be his very first friend here. We went to the library after school and then he bought me a soda for helping him. (Isn't that sweet?) Oh yeah. His name is Roger. Roger Grette.

Steve Austin, you can ignore me all you want to, and I don't care any more. So there!

* * * * *

November 1, 2009

I met Roger right around the start of the second semester in sixth grade. Boy, did I crush on him – fast and hard! At first it didn't seem like Steve even noticed, much less cared. He was too busy with his new buddies from the football and baseball teams and to him I was still the little tomboy with her pigtails swinging, her fists flying and her mouth going sixty miles an hour.

Meanwhile, Roger and I became almost an 'item' – and the tongues of the entire sixth grade began to wag. Even after he'd long since caught up on his schoolwork and the teacher moved him to a regular assigned seat (which broke my pre-teen heart to pieces), we spent every moment we could together. Roger didn't have a gang of snooty new friends to try and impress – he had me, and I was _plenty_ impressed with him. (Even if I could beat him at tennis nearly every single time!)

So I went ahead and forgot all about Steve and figured my existence never even popped up on his radar any longer. I didn't find out just how wrong I was until the night of the sixth grade Graduation Dance...

* * * * *

May 11, 1962

Dear Diary,  
Tonight was my first real school dance and I don't care if I never go to another one. Ever! For one thing, I hate wearing dresses because my legs look like broomsticks but at least Roger looked nice. He really did. The music was okay and even though the decorations made the gym look like a gym with too much crepe paper, we had fun dancing. Toward the end of the night, there were some slower songs but the teachers and parents made sure we all danced far enough apart to stay 'virtuous'. Their word, not mine. Anyhow, Roger and I decided to leave a little early and get a banana split to share. We would've been back in plenty of time to meet his Mom who was picking us up! But we never got to go for ice cream and it was all Steve's fault.

We stopped just down the block from school and Roger told me how pretty I looked. (He was only being nice, but it still felt good to hear it.) He was holding my hand and then he put his arm around me and HE KISSED ME! Wow! A real kiss, too, not rolling around in a tree house and slugging each other. I always thought that would mean fireworks and symphonies and all that kind of good stuff but instead...there was Steve.

I don't even know where he came from! He doesn't go to our school anymore! (Was he spying on me? What a creep!) Diary, you won't believe it because I don't even believe it, but he pulled Roger away from me and then he HIT him! Someone must have seen Steve following us and told on him because the principal and a couple of teachers came running down the block before anything else could happen. They grabbed Steve by his arm and poor Roger too and told me I had to come with them. What was I supposed to do? I was so mad! On the way into the school, I picked up a big stick in the parking lot and whacked Steve across the knees. I had to! He deserved it!

Anyway, Roger is suspended from school for all of next week. Steve probably is, too. He has to see his own principal first thing Monday morning. Me? I'm suspended for three days and grounded for two weeks! I can't see Roger or even Jules and Susan. My best friends! It isn't fair! No phone calls, either. No TV and I can only leave my room for meals and for school. I'm surprised they didn't take you away from me, too!

Thank God for Puzzles! Poor Puzzles – I don't think his fur has ever been this wet. I've heard the expression 'angry tears' before, but this is the first time I've ever cried because I was mad. No, I'm not mad. I am furious. Sort of hurt, too, because Mom and Dad wouldn't even listen to my side of the story before they sent me up here. Now I'm kind of glad I still haven't packed the rest of my dolls away in the big box in the closet. At least I'll have something to do.

* * * * *

November 1, 2009

I just didn't _get it_ back then! Now that I've raised three children of my own, I realize that Mom and Dad reacted the way they did _because_ they loved me. At the time, it seemed like the ultimate betrayal. How could they take my friends away, when Susan and Jules had nothing to do with any of it? Fortunately, this allowed me a great deal of time for introspection. Much as I've been doing lately, I read my old diaries (of course, there weren't nearly as many then) and thought about life.

* * * * *

June 11, 1957  
My First Diary, by Jaime  
I am seven years old today. I feel the same as when I was six. It was a good party. We had cake and ice cream and I got three new dolls, a tea set, a teddy bear, a real big box of crayons and a paint by numbers kit. Susie and Jules were here and some girls from my class too. I almost forgot. I got a real diary, with a key to lock it.

December 25, 1957  
Mom and Daddy gave me a new bed with a roof with lace on top. It is so pretty. Daddy calls me his little princess and now I feel like a princess. I do! Mom said I can pick what I want on the walls of my room and I told her lots and lots of flowers. We are going shopping soon. Santa was very nice too. He gave me a house for my dolls and a whole lot of candy.

I wanted to go and see what Santa gave Jules, but Mom said he might not have been to her house. She said they have a different holiday there, but I think Santa loves all of us the same. I don't think he would skip her house just because they light a lot of candles. Jules is a very good friend.

December 27, 1957  
Jules got lots of presents but not from Santa. She got some new dresses, pajamas, a big warm coat and fuzzy slippers. All from her family, she said. No Santa. That makes me sad. Next year, I will write to Santa so he stops at her house too.

January 17, 1958  
My room is all done and I love it. My bed is just like sleeping on a cloud and when I wake up there are flowers all over. Mom even put flowers on my floor with paint. She let me help with the big ones. Daddy said she is 'an artist before her time' but I am not sure what that means. Steve was here when his Mom came to have tea with my Mom and he laughed at my new room! He made these yucky sounds like he was sick and ran away screaming. Boys are just stupid.

* * * * *

November 1, 2009

Rudy tells me that I must rest soon. And I will – really – but since I'm not sure how much time I might have left and there is so much more I need to say, it's hard to tear myself away from the keyboard. Jenna, Adam and Hannah, please don't worry. I'm not in pain most of the time and when I am, Rudy is quick to take care of it. He really is an amazing man, you know. As old as he is and still going strong. Of course, I am his only patient and I suspect he takes more rest periods than he lets me know about (hell, he _deserves_ them!) but I am just so happy and thankful that he has lived long enough that he may actually see his genius recognized in his own lifetime. That is, if I have anything to say about it. And kids, if you know your mother at all, you know that when I put my mind to something, I will _always_ have my say!

* * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

November 2, 2009

I dreamed about Oscar last night – and about Steve. When they've visited my dreams before, I could always sense them more than I could see them and while that's still true, they seem to be coming closer. Their faces, peering at me out of the heavy mist, are kind ones. Again, it's more of a _feeling_ they give me than an actual eyes-nose-and-mouth face. I can hear their voices, though – both of them soft, loving and yet very insistent. It is not quite my time to join them. There is more I must do here...but I am on the right track.

So it appears that Rudy will be the last of our original Bionic Project foursome remaining. Ironic, isn't it, that the oldest among us is the last to go? I am so happy for him, and take comfort in my knowledge that when Rudy's time does come, mine will be one of three sets of open arms ready to receive him, much as Oscar and Steve are waiting for me now.

I know my parents will be there, too. They've always been there for me. _Always._

* * * * *

January 25, 1958  
Susie and Jules love my new room! We had a tea party today, the three of us and our dolls. Jules asked me if the tea was 'kosher'. I told her no, that it was apple juice and she said okay and drank it anyway. We had a really good time.

April 3, 1958  
It was a bad day in school today. One of the mean boys in our class called Jules a dirty Jue. I told him to shut up, that her name was Jules and not Jue. He called me stupid. And he made Jules cry.

April 8, 1958  
Sam was awfully mean to Jules today. He called her that name again in front of all of the kids when we were eating lunch. He said that if we sat at her table then we were dirty and stinky too. All the kids got up and moved except for Susie and me. Jules went to the nurse right after lunch. I think her Mom came and got her. She didn't come back.

April 9, 1958  
Jules was not in class today. I think she is sick. I miss her.

April 11, 1958  
Jules has been gone all week. Sam told Susie and me to be careful or we might catch it too. My Mom is going to call Jules' Mom and ask what happened because I am scared.

April 12, 1958  
It is not fair. Not fair, not fair! Jules is not coming back to our school. Not ever! Mrs. Avery told my Mom that a teacher is coming to their house now until second grade is over. Next year Jules will go to a new school. Why? Mom tried really hard to explain it to me. She said it's because of their faith. Jules can't go to our school because they had all those candles instead of Santa? Is that it? Jules lives on the same block as Susie and me. She has to go to our school. She has to!

April 14, 1958  
I got sent to the office at school today. Mom had to come and get me. Sam asked me where my dirty little friend was and I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could and I did not tell him I was sorry when the teacher said I had to, because I am not sorry. So I have to stay home two more days. Mom acted like she was all mad at me when we were at my school but on the way home she told me she was proud of me. Then we went for ice cream.

* * * * *

November 2, 2009

I was so fortunate when I was growing up to have parents who not only taught me right from wrong but also understood when I did the wrong thing for the right reasons. The Averys sent Jules to a private school the following year but she and Susan and I were such a tight-knit little trio that even a hot-button issue like religion couldn't pull us apart.

My parents...they were my beacon. They encouraged me to think for myself, to stand up for myself and what I believed was right – no matter how high the odds were stacked against me. Maybe I was a little spoiled at times (okay...more than a little) but no matter what happened or what I did, they always treated me with love, understanding and one other very important thing: respect.

* * * * *

June 11, 1958  
Happy Birthday to ME! I am eight now and I have a new diary with a pretty cover and a key, of course. I'm still mad at most of my class so I didn't want them at my party. But Susie and Jules came over for cake and ice cream. Daddy made cheeseburgers on the cooker outside. We had a picnic. Then Steve and his Mom came over later. He didn't want to play in my room because he called it a sissy room. He said the flowers make him gag. I like them! And I don't like him! He sat by our Moms while they drank tea and just had the meanest look on his face. I didn't kick him but I wanted to.

Mom said that Daddy is bringing home a special present tonight, just for me. I can't wait!

June 12, 1958  
I GOT A PUPPY! He's little and funny and so cute! And he's all mine! Daddy said I can pick what I want to call him. Maybe Patches. His fur is all sorts of different colors all mixed up together just like my puzzles. Puzzles! I think I will call him Puzzles!

June 13, 1958  
Puzzles tore up one of Daddy's slippers today but Daddy wasn't even mad. And Mom said as soon as he learns where to do his duty then Puzzles can sleep on my bed at night. We went to the store and I got to pick a whole bunch of puppy toys for him, but he seems to like Daddy's slipper the best.

* * * * *

November 2, 2009

_Puzzles._ He was the perfect dog for me, at exactly the right age. I had reached the point where if I got mad at someone, my first thought was to hit or kick. I was never a bully, but certainly was a spit-fire. Puzzles gave me an outlet for all of that excess energy and emotion. I could run with him (or, if I chose not to take him for his walk, I could clean up his messes). I could talk to him when no one else was around and his fur absorbed countless rivers of tears. He also made a wonderful companion for my tea parties.

* * * * *

November 2, 2009

More tests today. For what, I wonder? We've known for months that this would be inevitable. The damage has been done and (exactly as it happened for Steve) the greatest genius minds on this planet can't fix or reverse it. Still, if I can add something to the knowledge base of this science or become an even more detailed entry on Rudy's status sheets, then why not? He's done more for me than I could possibly ever repay. I will have to admit that at many points in my life, I was not quite so cooperative...

* * * * *

May 12, 1962

Dear Diary,  
Sixteen days and twelve hours still to go in this prison cell of a bedroom. And I am going crazy! Jules was here as soon as she finished breakfast – Susan must have told her what happened because I sure couldn't. I can't do anything at all other than stare at these walls. I poked my head out of the bedroom door and heard Mom tell Jules I couldn't see anyone at all for another two weeks. I know what you're thinking, Diary. You're thinking "but Jaime, sixteen days is longer than two weeks". Yep. It is. When the doorbell rang, I quick put my shoes on, thinking Mom would give in (at least a little) and let me talk to my best friend. Nope! I got so mad when I heard her sending Jules away that I took my shoes off and threw them at the wall. Okay, so they made two pretty decent thuds when they hit, but did Mom really have to add two more days of grounding? (One for each shoe?) And really – a third extra day just because I stuck out my tongue? Geez!

May 14, 1962

Dear Diary,  
I swear it was the longest weekend of my life! This morning, I was so excited to get up and get ready for school! Then I remembered that I can't go back until Thursday. I've already read all of my books (even my old diaries), painted a couple of the ugliest pictures you've ever seen and played with Puzzles until he crawled under my bed and went to sleep. What do I do now? Those dolls are starting to look pretty good.

May 16, 1962

Dear Diary,  
If anyone finds out about this (EVER) I think I will curl up and die, but I had a tea party today. With my dolls. (And with Puzzles, of course, who never could resist a good tea party.) Mom looked in at exactly the wrong moment and I was so embarrassed but she didn't laugh at me. She just asked if we'd like some juice for our empty tea cups. And she brought cookies up, too. Today, I didn't stick my tongue out.

May 17, 1962

Dear Diary,  
School – at last! Susan teased me a little and said I was grounded because I was too boy crazy. That if I had gone to the movies with her instead of to the dance with Roger, none of this would have happened. Maybe she's right.

It still feels kind of weird to call her Susan after so many years of calling her Susie. She changed it at the start of sixth grade, to sound more grown-up, I think, and so far she hasn't changed her mind. I wish I could talk to Jules, just for a little while, but Mom took the phone out of the upstairs hallway so I can't just open my door and sneak in a call or two. (Now, would I do that?)

May 21, 1962

Dear Diary,  
It's kind of fun playing the way I used to. Sort of like meeting an old friend, or a whole bunch of them. Sally, Ramona, Violet, Daphne and Teddy. I still remember all of their names. The last time Steve's Mom was here and dragged him with her (she always drags him with her because she thinks we're actually friends or something), he made fun of me so bad when he saw the dolls on my windowsill, and I almost stuffed them away in that box with the rest of my old toys. Now I'm so glad I didn't! Almost another whole week to go here, so I just might be dragging that old box out before it's all over.

May 23, 1962

Dear Diary,  
Okay. I admit it. I am so bored that I am playing with toys. I built a castle with the old blocks and it was a good one, too, until Puzzles knocked it down with his waggy tail. Then I found a paint-by-numbers set with one picture I never finished. It's finished now. And Puzzles has a bright green nose.

May 28, 1962  
FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

June 2, 1962

Dear Diary,  
I am officially a sixth grade graduate. Aren't you proud of me? Mom and Dad were in the audience, of course – and Dad cheered louder than anybody else in the gym. Steve's Mom came too. I just wish she'd have left her little toad on a leash at home. Every time I looked at him, he stuck his tongue out! She should ground him to HIS room for that, or at least put him back under his rock.

Roger still won't talk to me, but maybe I will see him at tennis lessons over the Summer. Jules didn't get a graduation because her school goes straight through from first grade all the way to the end of high school. What a rip-off.

* * * * *

November 2, 2009

Rudy sat down and ate dinner with me tonight and he asked me a question that left me speechless. (Yes, kids, your mother was speechless. A first. I know.) He wanted to know, given everything that has happened through the years, right up until today, if I regret the choice Steve made for me when he asked Oscar and Rudy to save my life, to make me bionic. Would I have made the same decision for myself? _Would I?_

* * * * *

November 2, 2009

It's almost midnight, and Rudy would have fits if he knew I was back at the keyboard – but I just couldn't sleep. I know how it must have sounded to you that your own mother couldn't answer the simple question of whether I should have died at 26...for good. Of course, I wouldn't trade any one of you for all the riches on the planet, so it would appear that the answer is obvious. Except...it isn't. I don't regret having my lifespan more than doubled from what fate originally intended. I'm not sorry I married your father and am so grateful to have been blessed with the three of you. There are regrets, though....a lot of them.

You have to admit that, as hard as we tried to shield you from the 'other' part of our lives, your childhoods were far from normal. Children – _all children_ – deserve stability and a sense of normalcy. You didn't always have that, and it breaks my heart to say so. But I'm pretty sure you realize that through it all you were always cherished and deeply loved.

* * * * *

November 22, 1962

Dear Diary,  
Steve's Mom is getting married! And I get to go to the wedding! Unfortunately, Creepy Toad will have to be there too. But I will just ignore him, the way he ignored me all through Thanksgiving dinner today. Mr. Elgin seems too nice to want that thing for a stepson. It was a nice dinner anyhow. My Dad cooked the turkey and my Mom made all kinds of yummy things to go with it. Stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy – the works. And Steve's Mom brought two different kinds of pie.

January 5, 1963

Dear Diary,  
The wedding was beautiful! So romantic, just like in the movies. Afterward, when the band started playing, Steve asked me to dance. I think his Mom made him do it and I could tell my Mom would've killed me if I said no. So we danced. It wasn't all that bad. He told me my dress looked nice so I said he didn't smell as bad as usual.

June 11, 1963

Dear Diary,  
I can't believe I'm finally a teenager! Mom and Dad took me out for the fanciest dinner I've ever had. There were even candles on the table and real tablecloths too! I got to order whatever I wanted, so I had my very first-ever lobster. It was so good! Since Steve's Mom is my Mom's best friend, the Elgins came along. Steve was almost nice to me. He said "Congratulations, Toothpick". It almost looked like he was watching me all through dinner. Maybe he's never seen anyone eat lobster before. As we were going out to the cars to go home, he asked if maybe we could bat tennis balls around this summer. I told him I'd think about it.

October 8, 1963

Dear Diary,  
Susan (the very same Susan who teased me for being boy crazy) has a boyfriend. They hold hands in the hallways and he carries her books for her like she's too weak to carry them herself or something. I don't have anyone to eat lunch with now because even though they didn't say not to sit with them, it's like they're on a different planet from the rest of us. I wish I had a boyfriend, too. Roger took Leslie Newman to the Fall Dance and all I did that weekend was bat tennis balls with Steve.

I tried to talk to Mom about it, but she's teaching extra classes this year. When she is home, sometimes she seems so distracted, like she doesn't really hear what I'm saying. When she goes to work she hugs me harder and longer than she used to (like she'll be gone for days) and then sometimes she's right back home again, not even an hour later. Weird.

November 28, 1963

Dear Diary,  
We had Thanksgiving at the Elgins' house this year. (It was their turn.) It was the strangest Thanksgiving ever. Do all families get weirder over the holidays? When we were getting ready to go over to the Elgins', Mom got a phone call. She got all teary-eyed and gave me one of those hugs again, saying she had to go. She was sorry. And she loved me. There was just something she had to take care of. She and Dad went in the other room for a few minutes with the door shut and then she left. On Thanksgiving! So Dad I and went over to have dinner without her and guess what? Right when Mr. Elgin was saying grace the doorbell rang and there she was. I asked her why she changed dresses and she just looked at me sort of funny. I had to leave the room (well, the house, really) because I just wanted to cry.

I ended up on the Elgins' porch, bawling like a little baby. I thought Dad would come out and make me go back in...but he didn't. Neither did my Mom. When the front door opened, it was Steve who came out to see if I was okay. I felt so stupid! And so confused! Steve told me not to worry, that parents were just weird sometimes. Then he put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a little half a hug and told me everything would be okay. He said we could sit there as long as I needed to. I wish I had a big brother, because it felt so nice to have somebody care like that! Nobody was mad when we finally went back in. They were keeping dinner warm and having a drink in the den while they waited. When we got home Mom and Dad both hugged me and told me how sorry they were about what happened, that they didn't mean to scare me. I wasn't scared, though, not really. I just wanted someone to tell me what was going on!

* * * * *

November 2, 2009

I guess my childhood wasn't always what you'd call normal, either. But I always knew without a doubt that my parents loved me and would move Heaven and Earth for me. They also respected me enough to know when to leave well enough alone.

* * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

November 3, 2009

Your father and I had a true love-hate relationship (leaning firmly towards hate) for quite a few years. Maybe it was because our parents kept pushing us together at every holiday and every chance they got. Trouble was, we wanted nothing to do with each other. My mind was with my friends, boys, tennis, boys, books, school – and did I mention _boys_? Your father didn't seem to fall into that category. He was just....Steve.

Things started to change after that Thanksgiving when he was so kind to me. After that, I began to be able to at least tolerate the sight of him. (And he starting smelling better, too.)

* * * * *

March 14, 1964

Dear Diary,  
Susan has another new boyfriend. Her third, I think. (I've stopped counting.) And still, I have nobody. I went to the movies with Phillip last weekend and out for a soda after school with David this week, but I wouldn't really care to spend as much time with either of them as Susan spends with Tommy. Usually, I just take a book outside and eat lunch by myself, under the trees. Maybe high school will be different. I hope so. Jules doesn't have a boyfriend yet either because her parents say she's too young. My parents aren't as strict. I'm just...unchosen, I guess.

June 11, 1964

Dear Diary,  
For my birthday this year, Mom and Dad gave me a tennis racquet. A really good one, just like the pros use. And a new diary, of course. I don't know if I'll be writing in you as often as I used to, since I'll be trying out for the high school tennis team in just a few more weeks. (They like to start early, so the team is 'unified and ready' when the season starts.) Lots of practicing to do before then! I'm actually getting pretty good. At least, I think I am. Steve says I'm improving slowly but surely, which is a real compliment coming from him. Especially since I can beat him now, almost every time we play. JV, here I come!

July 13, 1964

Dear Diary,  
The JV team list was posted today. I wasn't on it.

July 14, 1964

Dear Diary,  
Big news! The biggest! Steve called me this morning to say congratulations on making the team. I was sort of mean to him because I thought he was teasing me. But it turns out I should have looked at the rest of the bulletin board postings. I didn't make the JV team because (get ready for this) I MADE VARSITY! Me! I can't wait to tell Mom and Dad as soon as they get home from work! Steve wants to buy a milkshake to celebrate. I guess that's okay. It's not like a date or anything.

July 17, 1964

Dear Diary,  
Varsity Tennis is SCARY! I can keep up. That's not the problem. But the Seniors and even most of the Juniors look at me like 'who is this little pipsqueak?' - until I beat them in practice games. Then they just want me to go away.

November 27, 1964

I had Thanksgiving with Steve and the Elgins this year. Just me. Mom and Dad both had to go out of town for a conference. They wouldn't tell me where. (Since when are there conferences on a holiday, anyway?) So after dinner, I stayed overnight in the Elgins' guest room. Steve was looking at me funny all the way through the turkey and the pumpkin pie yesterday, and this morning things got sort of weird. He asked me if I would go to his Senior Class New Years Eve party with him. Who, me? The 'broomstick'? I'm not even sure if Mom and Dad will let me stay out that late.

* * * * *

November 3, 2009

You've heard the stories about that New Years Eve party enough times already – and I can picture the three of you rolling your eyes, thinking I'm about to go over every glorious, sparkling detail again. Don't worry. I won't. You know what happened. I think it was the first time I truly realized that your father was a flesh-and-blood _male_ and not just an extension of my own family. But he was almost an adult and I was fourteen. There really wasn't a relationship so much as a _possibility_.

There were so many things I wanted to talk about with my Mom back then, but I was seeing less and less of her. Dad, too. They were gone so often, and yet they never failed to show up at my tennis meets. Hell or high water, at least one of them was always there. I didn't appreciate back then what sort of hoops they must have jumped through to accomplish that. I just didn't know. They couldn't tell me what was really going on - I'm not even sure if the Elgins knew. Maybe Helen did, but I doubt it. They seemed as puzzled by it all as I did, but they took me in willingly, whenever they needed to. They were almost like a second set of parents. I didn't have to knock anymore when I went over there and I got the same cookies, milk and Mom type of love that Steve did. Every single time.

Your father went off to college that Fall and I was alone again. At least (with typical teenage over-dramatization and angst) I thought I was. Tennis and schoolwork were my saving graces and since even Jules had finally begun dating, Puzzles became my best friend. I abandoned my diary for awhile, too. The little spitfire in me raised her nasty head at my parents a bit too often, so I suppose that meant I was a normal teenager. You know the drill – hating Mom and Dad at a time when you need them the most. Like the old saying goes, sometimes you don't appreciate what you have until you lose it...

* * * * *

November 3, 2009

How do you describe an event so wrenching that it shatters the very core of your soul? And how do you go one step further, putting it into typed-out words, stark in their pain as they glare back at you from the icy display of a computer monitor? Truly life-altering traumas can hit as suddenly and unexpectedly as bombs from an unseen enemy...with equally devastating results. The first time I was hit with such a life bomb, I was only sixteen.

It was one of the memories returned to me when Michael and Rudy did their brain-cell-regeneration surgery. One of the facts of my life that I had been briefed on beforehand....but nothing could have prepared me for the time when I actually _felt_ it again, just as vividly and painfully as when I was sixteen. I can still feel that identical pain today.

Mom and Dad were working at the college (or so I thought at the time) and when I got home from school I took the big pan with the roast and veggies out of the refrigerator and put it in the oven. Every so often, while I was doing my homework, my hand reached up to touch my neck, making sure the necklace Mom had given me that morning was still there. It seemed very important to her that I wore it – so important that her fingers shook as she put it on me. It was still there. When Puzzles jumped up to kiss me hello that afternoon, I made very sure his paws didn't catch it by accident. Somehow, I just knew it was special.

I finished all of my homework and the roast was starting to smell awfully good. It was almost time to put in the rolls when the doorbell rang. It was Steve's Mom, and I could tell she'd been crying. That scared me, right off the bat. She told me I needed to come with her to their house, that we needed to have a talk, but I said my parents would be home soon and I had to get dinner ready. She reached around me and shut off the oven without saying anything more, then put her arm around my shoulders and led me out of the house. My heart was pounding so hard! I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it had to be bad. Really, really bad.

Jim Elgin was waiting in their den and the three of us sat down. Helen put both of her hands on the sides of my face and it seemed like she was choking. She opened her mouth and closed it again a couple of times but no words came out. All she could do was hug me. Then Jim got up and sat on my other side and put an arm around my shoulders. He was so gentle. Finally, he said it.

"Honey, I'm afraid there's been an accident..."

I knew. Right at that very moment, before they said anything else....I _knew_. There seemed to be this loud buzzing roar in my ears that took over my whole body. I couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't hear the rest of what Jim was saying. But my heart heard him.

"Your parents' car...it went over a steep embankment. Jaime, Honey...I am so sorry....they didn't -"

"NO!" I couldn't let him finish! I couldn't, because that would make it real. I wrenched myself away from them and started throwing anything I could get my hands on. I called him a liar, told him he was crazy...but felt deep inside that I had just lost my own mind and might never, ever get it back. Eventually, the truth sank in anyway, biting straight into my soul and leaving me in a shaky, sodden heap in the middle of the Elgins' carpet.

I didn't even feel Jim pick me up off the floor and I barely noticed when he put me in a bed and Helen pulled the covers up over me. My teeth were chattering so hard that I thought they would break...but I wasn't cold. I remember curling up like a tiny baby and just _crying_. It felt like I was slowly getting smaller, shrinking down to where any second I would cease to exist...just like my parents. Helen sat with me and rubbed my back, and a little later Jim brought me a cup of warm tea but I couldn't drink it. I had so many questions, but I couldn't seem to form any words. Every time I opened my mouth, these strange little sounds came out, like some kind of wounded animal.

Helen asked me if I'd like her to run a hot bath for me, and I couldn't answer so I just shook my head and buried it in the pillow. My old favorite comfy nightgown seemed to appear out of nowhere (Jim must have gone back over to get it) and Helen helped me change and then tucked me back into the bed. When the bedroom door opened again, it was Steve (Jim and Helen had called him home from college) and he had Puzzles by the leash. He unhooked the dog's collar and left the room very quietly.

As soon as Puzzles was free, he ran to me, jumping up on the bed and licking the salt from my face. I hugged him so tight...and cried even harder. He was all I had left....or so I thought.

"I'm so sorry, Dear," Helen told me again. "But we love you and you are _not_ all alone."

* * *

Rudy just came in and found me crying as I typed this. He turned a couple shades of pale before I could assure him that nothing was wrong. No new symptoms or pain....just an decades-old memory that's as agonizing now as it was when it happened...and an ocean of gratitude for the people who helped me live through it.

* * * * *

November 3, 2009

If I were pressed to give a title to that summer, it would be The Summer of Drifting Aimlessly. I moved in with the Elgins and (according to Mom and Dad's wills and the Elgins' wishes) they were appointed my legal guardians. Luckily for them, Steve was home for the summer, because I was quite a handful.

I spent a lot of time in my room – the one that used to be their guest room. They'd brought my beloved old canopy bed over from the house, to make me feel as much 'at home' as they possibly could. In spite of our kiss at the New Years Eve party a couple of years earlier (and you all know how I feel about _that_!), Steve shifted back into 'big brother' mode. It was what I needed and besides....he was 20 and I was 16. (Can you say _jail bait_?)

The Elgins were so good to me, so warm and welcoming. The harder I tried to push them away – and believe me, I could be a stubborn little thing – the more they pulled me in and showered me with love. They kept telling me that we were family long before this happened and that hadn't changed. Except, for me....everything had changed.

I didn't do much of anything that summer. I took Puzzles for his walks, but that was about it. I didn't read, watch television, visit with my friends or even bat tennis balls with Steve. There was a lot of time spent just staring at the walls of my room. I can't even tell you what I was thinking about because I was doing my utmost NOT to think. Fortunately, one thing I _did_ start to do again was write in my diary. (Although at 16, it was now officially a 'journal'.)

* * * * *

August 8, 1966

Who the HELL does that tennis coach think he is, anyway? Oooh I am so mad! Jeffries actually had the nerve to come over today – to ask Mrs. Elgin why I wasn't on the tennis team this year! It's none of his damn business! I locked myself in my room so I didn't have to see him, which is probably what saved his kneecaps! But once he was gone, Mrs. Elgin knocked on my door. She said if I didn't let her in, she'd have Mr. Elgin come home and take the door off the hinges because we needed to have a talk. What choice did I have? I opened the door.

Mrs. Elgin was crying. She wasn't mad at me, like I thought she'd be. She said she was hurt because I lied to her. See, last week when they were having the team try-outs (which you have to attend, even if you're already on the team), I took my racquet and went for a walk. I didn't feel like playing tennis. (And I still don't!) So I went out by the lake and watched the ducks until try-outs would've been about over, and then I went back. She never knew the difference until the coach opened his big stupid mouth.

She said she's worried about me, that my parents would be crushed to know what I was doing with my time (which is nothing, and I like it that way). And she told me that tomorrow, I will be going back to the tennis team. HA! I'd like to see her try and make me!

August 9, 1966

Well...she did it. Or I did it, and she made me. Mr. Elgin stayed home from work this morning and at quarter to ten, they got my racquet out of the closet and told me it was time to go. I'm sort of ashamed of what I said to them at that point. I won't repeat it. But they ignored it and each took one of my arms – and pulled me off the bed and out toward the car. They didn't hurt me or anything, but Mr. Elgin said he would carry me if he had to. Um...no thanks. Anyhow, they drove over to the high school and then he asked if I was going to go on my own or if I'd like an escort or two. (Like I would let my friends see that!) So I started to get out and then Mrs. Elgin put her hand on my arm. "You need this," she told me.

Okay. I admit it. She was right.

August 11, 1966

I thought it would be weird being back with my friends after what happened, that they'd treat me different. Like Little Orphan Jaime or something. Except they didn't. A couple of them hugged me and said they were glad to see me and then it was right back to tennis. And me kicking their butts, just like always.

I asked the Elgins if I could walk to practice today and they sent Steve along with me. I think they still aren't sure if I'll actually go, but really I will. I love tennis even more now because for an hour or two, I can almost feel normal. Anyhow, Steve complimented me on my world-class temper tantrum from the other day, when I had to be dragged to the car. He made this silly little half a smile and I knew he was kidding, but I went along with it and offered to give him lessons.

He asked me, since he had walked 'all this way' (a whole five blocks) if I would mind if he stayed and watched us practice. I had to make fun of him a little, but of course I said okay. Afterward he acted shocked, saying he hadn't realized I was that good. He was just being nice, I think. But he suggested we take the long way home so he could buy me a cheeseburger since I'd probably worked up an appetite (which, in fact, I had). I wish I could find someone to date who makes me feel as comfortable as he does. I'll really miss him when he goes back to college.

* * * * *

November 3, 2009

I didn't really date anyone during the first half of my Junior year. I was still too raw. Unless I had a racquet in my hand, my legs felt too unsteady. Coach Jeffries probably saved my life with his little visit to Helen that day, though – or at the very least, my sanity. Your father came home at least one or two weekends a month to see his folks and we'd usually catch up over pizza at the Capri or just sitting on our favorite old tree stump, talking for hours about nothing...and everything. He was a perfect gentleman, even when I was wishing he wouldn't be.

After the holidays, out of the blue, Roger started coming around again. He didn't play tennis anymore and he'd come up with what I called 'a damnfool idea' – to become a forest ranger. But we were both older now and seemed to really 'click' together. The Elgins liked him, which was a plus, and with Jules away at a school up North and Susan preoccupied with her latest steady boyfriend, I was ready to learn what all the fuss was about. At least, I thought I was.

* * * * *


	4. Chapter 4

November 4, 2009

Last night was a tough one. For a little while, pain overshadowed everything else and when the morphine took over, it made the visions of your father and of Oscar seem ugly, warped...and inescapable. God, I hate morphine. I'd so much rather take a couple of Tylenol and try to ride it out with my teeth gritted but Rudy keeps telling me that pain causes shock...and shock can kill. Last night it seemed I was in no shape to debate and (even for me) that needle was a welcome relief. The visions, however, were not.

For as long as I've had the good fortune to know him, Rudy has always had a knack for knowing exactly what is needed and when. He is as kind and indulgent as a grandfather would be, as lovingly strict as a father - and always with the camaraderie of a dear friend. I can see horrible, crushing guilt in his eyes now, when he thinks I'm not watching him. He feels responsible for what happened to Steve...and for what's happening to me. I wish he could see himself through my eyes. He is nothing short of a hero. His genius and talent could've taken him anywhere in the world that he chose to go, made him rich beyond his wildest dreams. Sometimes I wonder if he's truly happy with the choices he made....

One thing I can say for certain: I was awful to poor Rudy when he first came into my life. Really, _really_ awful. I was terrified – repulsed and revolted, to be more specific – at what had been done to my body. I am ashamed to say that I accused the man who'd just saved my life of playing God. I called him Doctor Frankenstein. And at several points before regaining a semblance of my sanity, I told him exactly what I thought he should do with those new inventions of his. Gratitude? Not so much...not then. Not toward him, and certainly not toward your father.

When I woke up in the emergency room after the accident, I knew I was dying. Somehow, I wasn't afraid. (There wasn't enough left in me at that point to feel afraid.) I can sort of remember your father asking me to trust him, that maybe he knew of a way to help, but as I drifted off into the dark, I thought that the reassurance was only to placate him, to make him feel a little better. I was that sure I would not be waking up again.

But of course, I was wrong. When Steve first tried to explain what had happened to me – what he had persuaded Rudy and Oscar to do – I hated him. _Hated him!_ I had been ready to die – hell, I was halfway there! - and instead I'd ended up some sort of strange lab rat with experiments for limbs. A mutant. A _robot_. My arm and my legs just laid there like dead weight and as many times as they told me that moving them would come largely from my own will, I stubbornly refused to listen. I was too afraid to try, not wanting to face what it would mean if I failed....and even more so, if I succeeded.

By the time I finally met Oscar, most of my venom had already been spewed and I'd worked myself into an sad, ugly sort of funk. Still wasn't moving my limbs (I hadn't even begun to try) and although Oscar was reservedly pleasant, I didn't have to much to say to him yet. I didn't appreciate the wonderful gift he and Rudy had given me, or the hoops he assuredly had to jump through to get us to that point in the first place.

But your father refused to give up on me (even though I'd clearly given up on myself). He was there first thing every morning – bright and early – opening the blinds to let the sunshine into my room. He started placing some of my favorite things – like blueberry muffins and chocolate cookies – on the bed, just out of reach of my right hand. Of course, the first time I reached my left hand over to pick it up (wondering just how dumb he really was) but he grabbed that hand and held it firmly. "Hospital food sucks," he told me. "And there's a whole lot of blueberries in there."

He was taunting me! But I told him I wasn't hungry anyway and pretended to go to sleep. It was a battle of wills, and every morning I thought I was winning when I was only defeating myself. Finally, after about another week, I was getting good and sick of rubbery, powdered scrambled eggs. That morning, he brought in a big fresh-baked chocolate chip/pecan cookie, the kind your grandmother used to make when I was little. Damn, I wanted that cookie – even more than I wanted to be 'right'!

He knew it, too. "Just got it from the bakery down the road," he told me. "It's still warm..."

In that instant, I wasn't angry, depressed or frightened. I just wanted that cookie! I didn't think about wires or circuits or cybernetics – I just reached out ever-so-slightly and grabbed the prize! I thought your father was going to do somersaults and cartwheels right there in the hospital room! He hugged me, kissed me, then leaned out into the hallway and shouted "She did it!"

Rudy and the nurses came running, and so did Oscar. (I hadn't realized just how closely he was tracking my progress.) They all cheered and applauded as if I'd just run a marathon. All because of a cookie...

I wonder if Rudy will retire after I'm gone...? Lord knows he deserves to, but (knowing him) there are probably a million and one more projects sprouting inside his head. He's the rarest of the rare, taking his satisfaction from the good he does for others, rather than seeking glory from the masses.

* * * * *

November 4, 2009

I'm certain that, especially when you were younger, you preferred to believe that your parents were each other's one-and-only love. While that sort of heart and flowers notion is very pretty (and even though I've never talked with you much about my past love life), I think you know that wasn't the case. Several times, I felt serious enough about someone that thoughts drifted toward something more. The first of those someones was Roger.

* * * * *

January 30, 1967

Dear Diary,  
I'd better make sure I hide your key somewhere good and safe, because Susan would kill me if she knew I wrote about this! But I think she and Eric (her latest) did IT. She didn't say that, of course, but she used to give me all the good, juicy details about their dates and then all of a sudden...nothing. She just gives me this mysterious smile instead. Yep – I think they did it.

I wonder what IT is like....?

February 6, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Roger has been asking me out again, every day for the last week or so. I've been sort of stalling because we've been there already, you know? But I think I might say yes and just go to a movie or something with him. He isn't a bad guy, really, even though it seemed like he blamed me for what happened in sixth grade. We've grown up since then. At least, I have. I think boys take longer to get mature. I sure wish my Mom was here, so I could ask her about stuff like this.

February 11, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Okay, so I went to a movie with Roger. He has his drivers license now, but Mrs. Elgin said that unless we were walking, I couldn't go. She said cars and teenage boys are not a good combination. We'd wanted to go to the drive-in, but settled for the Cinema. I've never done anything more than kiss a boy. I'm not sure if I want to (yet) or if I'm really ready. Tonight was not my night to find out. It took Roger over half the movie just to put his arm around me. Am I doing something wrong?

March 4, 1967

Dear Diary,  
WHY won't Mrs. Elgin let me ride in Roger's car? She is SO mean! She says I'll understand some day, but I want to know now! Roger has never done anything except kiss me. (But he is an awfully good kisser!!!)

March 26, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Steve came home for a visit with his folks this weekend. Yesterday morning, he asked me to go for a walk with him out to our old favorite tree. (I think his Mom put him up to it.) "So I hear you've been seeing a lot of Roger Grette," he says. He asked me if it was serious. I wasn't sure what he meant. Was he asking if we were doing IT, or if I thought I might marry Roger – or what? Then he asked me if Roger had 'tried anything' yet. So I slugged him, just like when we were kids. But he didn't slug me back. He grabbed my hands, looked right in my eyes and said he was serious – that he didn't want to see me get hurt. And he asked me again.

I told him it was none of his damn business but that if he really wanted to know, Roger was a very, very good kisser. Steve got this strange look in his eyes and he said "Does Roger kiss you like THIS?" - then he kissed me, really hard. He had one hand on the back of my head, kind of holding me there like you see in the movies. I have never been kissed like before in my life! When he pulled away, it felt like I'd been running around the track at school or something. I couldn't catch my breath! Wow.

When we went home, neither one of us mentioned it to his Mom.

* * * * *

November 4, 2009

After Steve kissed me on that old fallen-down tree, he went back to college and I went back to Roger, like nothing had ever happened. Roger took me to our Junior Prom and by then his kisses were giving me genuine butterflies in my stomach. But I was always able to catch my breath afterward and I couldn't seem to figure out _why_. Maybe I really _wasn't_ ready, after all.

Hannah and Jenna, you've both asked me in the past how old I was when I lost my virginity – and if it was to your father. Adam, you've never asked, but I'm sure you've batted the subject around at least once or twice with your sisters. So, I'm going to answer that question now and tell you...

_It's none of your business!_

* * * * *

November 4, 2009

That summer, after my Junior year, was such a confusing time. My parents had been gone for almost a year and while Helen was a mother to me in every way but blood...it wasn't the same. I needed my _Mom_. I had two boys (almost-men, I suppose) in my life – one I was beginning to think might be 'The One' and another who was damn-well going to be there whether I wanted him or not. And I had never felt more alone. Jules was still gone and Susan was so preoccupied that she might as well have been on Mars. Who could I talk to about Roger...and about Steve? Steve's own mother? Hardly.

* * * * *

June 11, 1967

Dear Mom,  
(Yes, Diary, I know she isn't here, but I need my Mom, okay?)  
I guess you know it's my birthday today. Of course you do. I told the Elgins I didn't want a party this year. It just wouldn't be the same without you and Dad there, watching me blow out the candles. They gave me a cake anyway, but at least they left off the stupid candles, just like I asked them to.

I miss you so very much! I wonder if you can hear me when I sometimes talk to you at night? I hope you can. When I talk to you, I feel sort of warm, like someone just hugged me. (Was it you?) After the prom, Roger told me he loves me. I couldn't say it back because I just wasn't sure yet...so I kissed him instead. Was that the right thing to do? He hasn't said it since, probably because he's waiting for me and I'm still not sure. I mean, he's really sweet to me, we have fun together and I DO like him – a lot. But....love?

I wish you were here, Mom....

June 19, 1967

Dear Diary,  
I need help! This is too much to decide, all by myself! Today, Roger asked flat-out if I love him. He said he didn't want an answer right then, that he was going on vacation with his family and when he gets back, he'd really like to know. They'll be gone for two weeks. Diary, WHAT am I supposed to do? I don't want to lose him (if I really do love him, which I'm not sure if I do), and I don't want to hurt his feelings, either. If I do say I love him, does that mean I have to marry him? (Of course I don't HAVE to, but is that what Roger thinks?) He left a couple of hours ago and all I can do is cry.

June 20, 1967

Dear Diary,  
I'm more confused than ever. Steve heard me crying and told me that I could either talk to him or he would go and get his Mom. So we went out to the lake, to the old tree. I told him what happened and what Roger said to me and Steve got very quiet. He didn't say anything for the longest time and when he finally talked he was looking out at the water and I could barely hear him. He said "So do you love him?"

I told him I didn't know, but that maybe I did. Then it got really weird. Steve turned and gave me another of those funny looks of his and said "Or do you love ME?"

This was one of those times when I opened my mouth and no words came out. Me – love HIM? I guess I never really thought about it – about him – like that. He just looked at me sitting there with my mouth open like a big dummy and he said "Yeah, I thought so."

June 25, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Steve hasn't said any more about what we talked about at the lake. He hasn't said much of anything to me, really, since then. I think he's afraid I'll slug him again. I just need some time to think and that's so hard to do when he's right there, staying in the same house! I can't wait for tennis to start again. Except by then, Roger will be home and I'll need to have made a decision. I have no idea what that is going to be.

June 27, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Steve's parents had a 'date night' tonight, went out for dinner and dancing, so Steve suggested we go to the Capri instead of risking me starting a fire in the kitchen. (Ha ha. So funny.) So we went. Pepperoni, mushrooms and extra cheese – yum! I know he's hoping I'll answer the question he asked at the lake, but I don't even have an answer for myself yet.

July 1, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Roger will be home in two more days and I still don't know what I'm supposed to do. I've been taking a lot of walks up to the lake because the water helps me think. Sometimes, Steve shows up there and sits with me, not saying anything, just being there.

Two more days, Diary....

* * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

November 5, 2009

A choice like that is wrenching at any age, but at seventeen it was next to impossible. They were such polar opposites! Your father was rugged, athletic, handsome – and so very sure of himself. It wasn't that he was cave-man-like, as in "Woman will come to MY cave" - that wasn't it at all. But he was quietly solid in his knowledge that I would choose him, that we were _supposed_ to be together.

Roger, on the other hand, was studious and devastatingly charming with a sparkle in his eyes that drew me to him and held me there.

* * * * *

July 3, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Well, I made my decision. I am off to tell Roger. Wish me luck?

July 3, 1967

Dearest Diary,  
I am back. It didn't go like I thought it would. I told Roger that yes, I love him – because I do. I really do! That was where we were supposed to kiss madly and ride off into the sunset, right? Except he told me to get lost. He said I've been cheating on him. With Steve! His friends saw us together at the Capri and down by the lake a few times – and they told Roger. But we weren't doing anything! I swear we weren't! I will never speak to Steve Austin again as long as I live!

July 4, 1967

Dear Diary,  
So now I am all alone. Really, truly alone. This morning, Steve could tell I'd been crying but when he asked me about it, I told him to go to hell. A little while later, his Mom brought me tea and some toast but I can't talk to her about this. She knows that Roger dumped me. (I told her that last night.) But I can't tell her how her worthless son was the cause of it all. It isn't her fault! Now they're at the lake, watching the fireworks. They wanted me to go along and it's usually one of my favorite things. Today, I just need to hold Puzzles and try to cry this out of my system. Except I don't think there are enough tears...

I really wish I could've been at least a little older before Daddy died. I never got to find out what he thought about dating and all that stuff. Maybe it would've helped. I don't know. I don't know much of anything anymore.

July 21, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Roger won't even come to the phone when I try to call him. I guess maybe it really is over. I still can't believe it. Steve has been avoiding me (which is very smart of him) but today he poked his head in my room and told me that when I was ready to talk, he was willing to listen. Then he ducked out of the way of the flying shoe, just before it hit his head. (Damn!)

July 23, 1967

Dear Diary,  
Tennis started today. I'm Team Captain again and this year Coach Jeffries says we're going all the way to State! He didn't tell me until after try-outs were over, but there were a couple of scouts at the courts today. They were there to watch ME! What if....what if.....WHAT IF?!?

September 6, 1967

Dear Diary,  
I see Roger in the halls at school, walking with another girl. They just walk next to each other talking until he see me, and then he puts his arm around her. And I can't cry in school. I won't! Steve's Mom says I should try to date other boys and forget about Roger. How am I supposed to do that? I love him! And up until a couple of months ago, he loved me too.

The stupid guidance counselor wants me to tell him what my plans are for college. How am I supposed to know, when I don't even know what my plans are for next week? He said time is running out for applications and I'd better hurry up. Maybe I just don't care anymore. Still, I have been thinking about it and wondering what (if anything) was up with those scouts at the tennis try-outs. When I was little, I always wanted to be an artist but to tell the truth, my paintings aren't that good. I really like babysitting and playing with the young kids at the park. But I don't think I have the patience to be a teacher or anything like that. The only thing I'm really, really good at is tennis. I guess I have a lot of thinking to do.

April 2, 1968

Dear Diary,  
Susan told me she heard that Roger is taking Laura Mastersen to the prom. Is it possible to die of a broken heart?

* * * * *

November 5, 2009

It's amazing how small the world seems when you're seventeen years old. Even the slightest crisis seems like it's about to bring life as you know it to a screeching halt. And at the same time, you're expected to make decisions that will affect the rest of your life! I was very fortunate that college seemed to just fall into place for me. Two of the local universities offered me scholarships, but I wound up at Carnegie Tech, majoring in Education. (I figured the patience aspect would come with time and – to a certain extent anyhow – it did.)

And yes, I did end up going to my Senior Prom, after all. But that's a story for another time.

* * * * *

November 6, 2009

Rudy is worried about me. Okay, he has _always_ worried about me – it's in his nature, I suppose – but today he is fretting. He thinks that this letter/journal/legacy that I am trying to right is causing havoc to my system. My _system_ is causing havoc to my system! The words I am typing have nothing to do with that. And this is something that, while I can't fully explain it, I simply have to do.

Yes, I had a terrible day yesterday. But things are going wrong in my body that words on a keyboard (or the lack thereof) can't possibly affect. I still don't like morphine but sometimes I am grateful that it's there when nothing else works. It makes me too inwardly-focused, gives me too much time to think, since there's not much else you can do when you're lying there in a brain fog. Yesterday, I thought a lot about Oscar.

I don't have any diary entries about him that I can share, but I do have plenty to say. He was a dear friend every bit as much as he was our boss – and probably more so. He willingly changed diapers on all three baby Austins. And I will never forget the time we came home to find Oscar with strained vegetables in his hair, casually trying to pretend it had been a pleasant, problem-free day. To you, he was 'Unca Okka' and I know he loved the three of you as fiercely as any blood uncle ever could.

What can I say to sufficiently laud one of the men who saved my life? By authorizing the bionics, yes, but so many more times after that, as well. When I first went to work for him, he taught me everything I needed to know to survive in a 'game' where so many players don't reach a successful finish line. Trust my gut, my instincts, he always told me. And that's something I've carried with me for the rest of my life, long after retirement came around. It's also one of the most important things I hope you've learned from me – when you are backed into a corner, figuratively or even literally – and have no idea what to do, your gut instinct will seldom if ever steer you wrong.

Oscar could be unwaveringly firm when he needed to be (which was often, considering the number of people and projects he'd be over-seeing at the same time). He also knew enough or trusted me enough to let me find my own way sometimes. (Like I left him any choice in that!) Because he knew I would most likely do it my way anyhow, and he'd taught me the skills that would get me through the tough spots. He was an amazing man – such a quiet, intelligent authority and with a tender, caring spirit that the majority of the world was never lucky enough to see.

Your father and I were his 'dynamic duo'. When I was in the hospital after my accident, right after the surgery, it seemed like Oscar was always there. He wasn't, of course, because he had the rest of the world's problems to attend to – but he was there for all the important stuff. When I finally broke down and moved my hand, when I took my first steps on my new legs, when I could run again...Oscar was there, cheering me on. He was also standing right beside your father in the operating room the night I died.

After Michael dragged me back from the Great Beyond, Rudy and Oscar had a tough choice to make. I was in such bad shape! Almost checked out on them a couple of times, and they debated whether or not to tell your father that I was still alive. Fearing that he'd just end up losing me again, they decided to keep him in the dark, to not give him the news. Do I fault them for that? Not in the least! Whether I agree with them or not, they did what they did with only the best of intentions.

It did make for some terribly weird, awkward moments, though, when I finally went back to Ojai. People who had attended my memorial service turned a couple of dozen shades of pale and looked like they might need resuscitation of their own. We handled that by telling them a moderately-altered version of my original accident – that my parachute had failed, I'd fallen into a crevice and the rescuers couldn't find me. Sort of like one of today's really bad soap operas: woman washes up on shore and is saved by kind, well-meaning strangers, etc., etc., ad nauseum. Barely believable, but it was the best we could come up with and people seemed to accept it and eventually stopped looking at me like they were seeing a ghost. For me, the hardest part about going back wasn't the reactions from other people – it was seeing my own grave. I never saw the actual headstone. Never really had the need or desire for that, but I did see the plot, with its crushed, deadened grass where a headstone would be. It made me shiver. The thought of standing there, staring down at that spot, still makes me shiver today.

* * * * *

November 6, 2009

Returning to Ojai, to the people who had attended my memorial service, was like seeing something old and familiar through new eyes, for the very first time. Then again, the entire world felt like that to me for awhile, right after I was revived.

It's so hard to convey the fear and confusion, the utter helplessness of opening your eyes and having absolutely no idea where (or even who) you are! I'd imagine it's how a newborn baby feels, but with the gut-wrenching knowledge that something is horribly _wrong_. I can remember in flashes – tiny bits of pieces of what happened during that time. They tell me I was 'not fully conscious'. I would liken it more to being not yet fully alive.

I knew that my name was Jaime, but only because it was the first thing I heard: "Hi, Jaime – welcome back." The stranger in the white lab coat with the serious but kind expression told me his name was Michael. I wasn't sure if he was real...or even if I was. I opened my mouth to answer him, but somehow couldn't make the connection between the words in my head and an actual verbal response. It was too much...so I simply closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, the room was dark except for a small light at the head of my bed. Michael was sitting in a chair by the door, along with another man in a lab coat – older, with the immediate warmth of a father figure when he saw I was awake...and he smiled at me.

"Hi," he said to me, very quietly. I couldn't answer him. God, I was so scared! What _was_ this place and why was I here? The man looked and me and frowned (but not unkindly). "Jaime, do you know where you are?" he asked me.

Well, I was in a bed, and most likely in a hospital. The fact that he and Michael wore stethoscopes around their necks told me they were probably doctors. But that was as far as logic would take me. Slowly, I shook my head. Something made him bend toward the bed for a closer look. Maybe it was my eyes.

"Honey, do you know who I am?" he asked. His voice was so gentle, so very comforting – like a soft, warm blanket. I could see such genuine love and caring in his expression that I wished I _did_ recognize him. (Was he maybe my father? An uncle? I had no idea...) Once again, I could only shake my head. "I'm Rudy," he told me, glancing back at Michael. "Rudy Wells. I'm your doctor."

I could feel tears starting to burn down my cheeks and when I tried to reach up to wipe them away, that was when I realized...._I couldn't move._ At least, my right arm refused to budge. Strangely, my left one seemed okay but the tears were coming too quickly to be erased. If I was scared before, now I was petrified. Rudy was writing something on his clipboard as he leaned in to check me over and while he did that, I slowly began to take stock of my own body. The results were not at all comforting. Other than my left arm, my limbs were basically dead weight - uncooperative and unmoving – and I started to panic.

Michael joined Rudy beside my bed and I didn't see the needle until I'd already been stuck with it. "We'll talk more tomorrow," I heard one of them saying...but I was already halfway gone.

The next morning (well, at least I think it was the next morning), Michael was still in the chair by the door. Had he been there all night? He set down his clipboard and walked toward me when he saw me looking at him. He smiled in that non-committal bedside-manner sort of way. "Good morning. Can you tell me your name?"

It came out as something between a whisper and a hoarse little croak. "Jaime..."

He grinned more openly. "That's wonderful. Today, I'd like to help you start moving your arm a little bit. Does that sound okay?" There was so much I wanted to ask him, but the questions didn't seem able to move from my mind out through my lips. I think he sensed this. "I'd imagine this is all pretty frightening for you," he told me. "I think once we get you moving again you'll feel a whole lot better, more like yourself again."

See, now, that was the trouble. Just exactly _who was 'myself'_, anyway?

Michael set his pen on the bed, next to my right hand. "I'd like you to try and picture in your mind that your hand is picking up the pen," he instructed. "Don't think about it too hard, just give yourself the feeling that it's already a done deal – and then do it."

I wasn't really comprehending him. Didn't he see that _I couldn't move?_

"You aren't paralyzed," he told me. "It's artificial, but you _can_ move it. Go ahead and try."

_Artificial?_ My mind tried to wrap around that one...and failed. It was too much. All of it – just too much. Sleep beckoned and I followed it willingly.

* * * * *


	6. Chapter 6

November 6, 2009

I think I slept through most of that day and into the next night. I woke up a couple of times, very late, and the first time Michael was still there so I closed my eyes again before he could notice. Later, when I was finally alone, I was trying to use my one good arm to pull myself up in bed and really get a good look at my body (or what was left of it) when my nose started to itch. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to just reach up and scratch it – with my _right_hand. It worked!

I laid back down in my bed and held both hands up in front of my face. I looked at the palms, the fingers, the nails...and I couldn't tell the difference. Then – I jumped.

"Pretty good workmanship, huh?" Michael was in the doorway. How much had he seen? "Rudy _is_a genius," he told me.

I put my hands back down and stared at him. Words were tumbling a million miles an hour through my brain, but they got lost before they could become sounds. Michael pulled a chair up next to the bed.

"I'll bet this is all pretty overwhelming for you," he said gently. I could only nod. "Are you having any pain?" Pain? Only in the depths of my soul, so I shook my head 'no'. Michael moved the call button to where it was within easy reach of my left hand. "If you need it," he pointed out, "it's right there." He paused and gave me the 'concerned professional' look. "Can you tell me your name again?"

"Jaime."

"Jaime...what?" he probed. I had absolutely no clue. "Sommers," he prompted.

I tried it on for size. "Jaime...Sommers." Okay, I supposed I could live with that.

"You've been very sick – for a long time," he told me, "but you're going to be okay. This is a very special hospital, Jaime, and we'll take all the time you need to get you back on your feet." Michael patted my hand. "It's late, though, and you should be sleeping."

I think I nodded my agreement before drifting off to some semblance of sleep.

First thing in the morning (hell, I wasn't even _awake_ yet) and they were talking about me – in my room! Except...when I opened my eyes, they weren't there. The voices seemed to be coming from the hallway, on the other side of the closed door. Why was I hearing them so clearly? Was I imagining them? Dreaming? _Dead?_Maybe by 'special hospital', Michael really meant 'asylum'...?

"She _can_talk," Michael was saying, "at least we know that now. And she's retaining what we tell her."

"So far," Rudy agreed. "But it's impossible to tell to what extent until she's fully conscious. She could very well be more aware than we think she is, and simply not 'back' enough to tell us yet."

"I hope so," Michael answered. Then they walked away. It seemed really strange at the time, the way I could hear their footsteps all the way down the hall...

I opened my eyes some time the next day and there was someone new by my bed. He wore a well-tailored suit and a tie, and my first guess was that he was a hospital administrator. He looked vaguely guilty, like he hadn't intended for me to know he'd been there, and Rudy came up beside him and told me the man's name was Oscar Goldman. I nodded 'hello' to him, and Oscar smiled. He said it was great to see that I was finally coming around – and then within minutes, he was gone. I think my silence made him uncomfortable. (I know being so unable to communicate was making _me_pretty darn uncomfortable!)

Rudy got right into doing the doctor bit: checking my pulse, breathing...you know the drill. Then he sat down next to me. "Do you know your name?"

"Jaime..." the rest was in there – I just had to find it! "Sommers."

"And I am...?"

"Rudy Wells."

"Good. Now, what was the name of the man who just left?"

"Oscar..." I would've told him the last name, too – I knew it! But I was so tired...

"Can you wriggle your toes for me?" Rudy persisted.

I just wanted to sleep! But being that he seemed to be the one in charge and I sensed this was very important, my toes did a little dance for him just before I drifted off.

"Jaime...?"

The next time I was aware of anything, there was _another_new person standing over my bed. He was wearing a bright blue jogging suit, so I guessed right away that he wasn't a doctor. He looked so excited, like a kid with the best Christmas present ever sitting in front of him, waiting to be unwrapped. That is, until I asked him who he was...then he looked like someone had just slapped him. Me? Was I the reason he looked so hurt? He looked over toward the door, at Rudy and Michael. Oscar was standing there, too. They all looked so sad...positively stricken. The man in blue gave me a little smile and walked away like a whipped puppy. I felt so terribly, awfully guilty that I started to cry. It felt sort of like there'd just been a huge test – and I had flunked. Badly.

Oscar and Rudy left with the man in blue and Michael came over and sat on the edge of my bed. "I...I'm sorry," I told him.

Michael took my hand and tried to smile. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said very quietly. "You've had a whole lot of everything thrown at you all at once. I know it must be confusing." I nodded, and Michael reached over and tucked the covers around me. "It'll get better," he told me. "I promise." He took another syringe from his pocket. "You've had a really long day today."

(I did? Strange, since I slept through most of it!)

Michael put the sedative right in my IV line. "It'll work faster that way," he explained. "I want you to get some good, solid rest because tomorrow we're going to be running some tests." He stayed with me, holding my hand and giving me a soft, reassuring smile, until I was solidly on my way to dreamland.

November 7, 2009

It's hard to find the right words to describe what it felt like to be lying in that bed, sure of little else other than my name (and knowing that only because they told me). I could _think_, but (especially at first) that often resulted in a jumbled mess. In the beginning, it was too hard to verbalize what I was thinking because the words got lost somewhere on that tiny circuit between brain and mouth. But in my head (to assure myself that I _could_ think, that I did indeed have a working brain), I would silently tell myself _one plus one equals two. Two plus two equals four..._Sounds quite odd now, but at the time it was very reassuring.

I could reason, at least simplistically. (I was in a bed, there were doctors around me – therefore, it was a hospital.) But I had absolutely no understanding of who I was or what I was doing there. It was like I had just opened my eyes and been born...at age 27. (Although it was a few days before I even found out how old I was.) When they put me in a wheelchair and took me over to the window, I knew that what I was seeing was a tree...a bird...the sky. The words – the nouns – were there in my head but it was like seeing each and every thing for the very first time. Confusing and overwhelming – but also indescribably beautiful.

They were so patient with me! A couple of days before they got me out of bed and took me to the window, the questions began in earnest. Rudy and Michael both pulled chairs up next to my bed. Double-teaming me...this was serious. Individually, they had already asked me small, casual batches of questions like where I was from, how old I was, just general stuff. I didn't have answers for any of it, though, and usually became so frightened (and later, angry) that these short sessions often ended with a needle and sleep.

Today, though, their manner seemed lighter. They were smiling. But I wasn't fooled; this was deadly serious stuff, and I knew it. I also knew their first couple of questions by rote and saved them the trouble of asking.

"Jaime Sommers," I told them. "I am 27." Slowly, my speech was coming back as I realized these men would never hurt me and were, in fact, trying their utmost to make me well.

"Very good," Michael said with a chuckle. "Jaime, today we'd like to show you a couple of pictures. They might be familiar to you and they might not. Okay?" I nodded, and he held up the first photo.

It was a street scene, with archways spanning the sidewalk for the entire length of the block and a pretty little clock tower on the building at the corner. I stared at it for a long time, wondering what (if anything) they wanted me to say. They waited.

"I...like it," I offered.

"Have you ever seen it before?" Michael asked.

"No."

"Okay. What about this one?" He showed me a picture of what I figured was a family – a man and a woman, a young girl and a dog, posing next to a wall full of yellow rose bushes. Slowly, I shook my head. "Nothing?" Michael persisted.

"No."

"Okay. There's one more, if you're not too tired." He held up a photo of a landscape – a barn, fences and haystacks – and _rain_.

I could feel myself flinch.

"Jaime? What is it?" Rudy asked, leaning closer.

My eyes were shut and I could feel tears in them, although I didn't know why. "Pain..." I told him.

"Where are you feeling pain, Honey?"

I shook my head. I wasn't _in pain_, but my whole body – every last cell of it – shivered with a visceral memory of a pain so intense that it wiped out everything else. Everything. A pain that engulfed mind, body and spirit and gnawed them into unrecognizable, tattered pieces.

"Do you remember something?" Michael asked, very gently. My eyes were still closed but I felt him take my hand.

I nodded. "_Pain_..." was all I could tell him. I opened my eyes, looked into the caring, concerned faces of my doctors...and began to cry. Michael stepped over to perch on the side of the bed. He tucked the blankets around me because I was still shivering – violently.

"But there's no pain now?" he confirmed.

"No..."

"That's a very good sign." His voice was steady, soft and comforting – and a few seconds later, so were his arms. There was nothing sexual or perverse in what he did, either. I was terribly traumatized and what I needed most at that moment (much more than another needle) was a hug. I returned the embrace, grateful for the reassurance of human contact, and Rudy (sitting behind Michael now) took both of my hands in his and held them tightly. In essence, they were both holding me close. And...it helped. A lot.

The first day that they took me to the window, there were more pictures. First, though, they gave me plenty of time to just sit and take it all in. The colors were so vivid and when Michael opened the window, the air was positively revitalizing! "It's good to see you smile," Michael said softly. The birds were singing in the trees outside, the breeze was wafting in to say hello – and for the very first time since I'd opened my eyes and found myself in this place, I felt truly and completely alive.

There was so much I wanted to ask them, so much I wanted to see and to know about! "Pictures...?" I asked, suddenly eager to get on with it. (My words were still coming out in very short, abrupt bursts but at least I was starting to find them again.)

Michael grinned. "You sure you feel up to it?" I nodded. "Alright." This time, the photos were of people. The first one was Oscar – and I told them so. They seemed impressed and I was proud. The second one was of an elderly couple with 'warmth' written all over them...but I had no idea who they were. I shook my head. "Last one," Michael told me. This one, he placed directly into my hands. It was a photo of the man who'd stood by my bed, wearing the bright blue jogging suit. I still didn't know his name. But my body seemed to remember something that my mind did not. The picture fluttered to the floor and I closed my eyes.

November 7, 2009

Your father and I never talked very much about my time with Michael. He said that who I ultimately ended up with was what really mattered to him. I know that some of my actions and the choices I made during that time hurt him more deeply than he ever let on...and that fact breaks my heart. But it was very difficult to know what I wanted or needed when I didn't yet understand _who I was_.

Michael was always there, watching over me and seeming to have an innate sense of exactly what I needed when. I'd been moving my legs and arm pretty freely for a couple of days but still hadn't tried to stand or walk. It was too scary. Could I really trust limbs that weren't even my own to hold me up? What if I fell? One morning just after breakfast, Michael pushed my wheelchair toward the bed, stopping just a few feet away.

"It's a beautiful day outside," he told me. "I thought you might like to take a ride." I nodded eagerly and he motioned to the 'chair. "Well, your chariot awaits."

I knew right away what he wanted me to do. If I braced myself against the bed as I stood up, it would only be a matter of one step with one foot and I'd be there. So I sat up and thought about it. "I...can't..." I said to him.

"You _can_," he insisted, "and it's time. Come on – I'll help you." His gentle arm around my waist, not really holding me up but there if I did need it, was exactly the right touch. Slowly, I pushed myself off the bed and onto my feet...and my legs began to shake with my body's effort. Michael's grip tightened just a little bit, reassuring me, and I took that one, lone step – one of the hardest ever – and plopped myself into the wheelchair. He was proud of me; I could tell. I was even prouder of myself.

He wheeled me out the big glass doors – and the effect was exhilarating! I could feel the sun on my face and the birds seemed to be trilling a special 'welcome back' song, just for me. We stopped in a little grove of trees out behind the main building, where there was a very special surprise waiting. Michael grinned as he helped me onto the blanket that had been spread on the ground next to a picnic basket fulls of snacks.

"You've been working so hard," he told me, handing me a glass of iced tea. "You deserve a special treat."

"Thank...you..."

"Jaime," he began, inching himself a little closer to me, "I know you have a lot of questions. You're getting stronger now, and you're entitled to some answers. I thought maybe you'd feel more comfortable outside of the hospital, and that's the other reason I brought you out here. What is it that's most on your mind? What would you like to know?"

"Who was I?" I asked. (Funny how my voice was shaking.) "I mean...before..."

"Well..." Michael ran a finger around the rim of his glass, thinking for a moment. "You grew up in California, in a little town called Ojai." He looked at me carefully. "Ring any bells?"

"No." I took a bite of a nice, gooey brownie and looked into Michael's eyes – _really_looked. He was so open and warm...so kind to me. Although delving into what I didn't yet know was horrifically scary, with him I felt comfortable enough to ask at least a few of the questions that had nagged at me. "Was I...am I...married?"

"No. You've never been married."

Well, that was good news – because if I had a husband (I'd been wondering) then where the hell was he? I finished the brownie and took a deep breath, savoring the fresh breezes before diving back into the unknown. "What...what did I...do?"

"You played tennis."

"No...for a job." (Three and four word sentences – I was feeling positively eloquent!)

Michael smiled again. "That _was_your job. You were one of the top professionals in the country."

I watched him, waiting for a chuckle, a smirk, some sign he was joking. He wasn't. Wow. That called for another brownie. (After all that hospital food they were tasting pretty darn good.) I reached for the basket and Michael extended it toward me, his fingertips brushing my hand. "You're a very brave woman," he told me as we set the little basket down.

I shook my head. Brave? Not so much. "Scared," I said, correcting him.

"But pushing forward anyway. I admire that, Jaime – and I'd like to help you in any way that I can. Whatever it is that you need."

Right at that moment, I needed a lot more time spent just looking into his deep, brown eyes. They gave me such a sense of _calm_. I had so many more questions. Where was my family? Did they know I was here? Would I always be this way, like a half-person or some newly-hatched entity with nothing but the present to guide her? When could I go home? Did I even have a home? But one question was far more pressing in its need to be answered, if I could just find the words and the courage to ask it.

"How did I...get here?" My voice was shaking again...and so was the rest of me. My instincts were screaming loud and clear that this was dangerous, touchy territory. Without even knowing why, I was suddenly within inches of sheer panic.

"You had an accident," he said simply.

I gulped. "Bad?"

"Very bad. That was when Rudy gave you the new legs and arm." Michael scooted even closer to me on the blanket and put a gentle arm around my shoulder. I could tell what was coming would be rough, so I leaned into him...and it felt good. I could listen now. "You did okay for awhile," he explained. "Very well, in fact. But then you got very, very sick."

"And then...I came...here?"

Michael brushed his fingers across my cheek. I know now that he was likely debating whether to shield me from the rest of it, at least for the time being. "Not exactly," he admitted. His eyes grew darker, almost sad. "Are you feeling any pain, Jaime?" he asked, a little nervously.

"No..." What wasn't he saying? I knew there was more. He'd as much as told me that! Was it really that terrible? "Michael...please..." I was struggling for the words to ask him – and for the strength to hear whatever he might tell me. "What happened?"

"Well," he began, stalling for a little more time. He picked up my left hand and held it, checking my pulse as well as offering comfort. "You've been here for several months now, in a coma, because you had a very serious reaction to your new limbs and..." he didn't want to say it.

"What?"

Finally, reluctantly, he told me. "Jaime...you died."


	7. Chapter 7

November 7, 2009

Michael and I grew closer in such an easy, unhurried fashion that the change was barely perceptible. If he'd made some huge play for me, I'm sure Rudy would've put a stop to it due to the ethics involved, but it wasn't like that at all. Some people might say that Michael took advantage of my condition, but his gestures of comfort – holding my hand, an arm around my shoulder or waist, a hug – were desperately needed when he offered them and probably saved me from freaking out entirely.

For a few days after Michael told me that I'd died, the testing and the questions stopped entirely. Rudy felt Michael had gone too far – and I knew this because once again they were talking about me outside my room. (Admittedly, I should've been asleep, but there was too much going on in my mind...and in the hallway.)

Rudy's voice was as angry as I'd ever heard him (at least up to that point). "You shouldn't have told her!"

"She asked – and I wasn't going to lie!" I trusted Michael to tell me the truth, and he obviously knew that.

"It was too soon!"

"She has the right to know about her own condition," Michael said, quieting down just a bit.

"Of course she does, but a little at a time, in small doses!" Rudy, on the other hand, had _not_ quieted down. "Now she's practically catatonic! We're lucky she didn't have another episode! For all she can tell us, maybe she did! Dammit, Michael – anything could've happened!"

"I had control of the situation – and I was watching her very closely. She was ready. It's going to take time for her to absorb it all, sure, but you either trust me...or you don't."

As much as I wanted to keep listening, that was all I heard. I don't think I fell asleep. My mind had absorbed everything it could and simply needed to shut down.

The next couple of days were very much like a kaleidoscope. All the teeny little shards and pieces – the things I'd overheard, the things they had told me and the pictures I'd been shown (even the ones I didn't recognize) danced through my head up, down, sideways and backwards. None of it made any sense because a puzzle never does without all of the pieces. I'm not even sure if I was sedated or simply zoning out on my own volition but when I could open my eyes and actually see clearly again, Rudy was there. He was instantly on his feet, checking me over.

"How do you feel, Honey?" he probed. "Any pain?"

I shook my head. There was no pain. How _did_ I feel, aside from wondering if I'd taken up a new career as a professional patient? As always, overwhelmed, confused, disoriented...and lonely. I did the standard toe-wriggle and waving of my hand and fingers and Rudy seemed greatly relieved. "Where's Michael?" I asked. It was unusual not to see him first thing when I woke up. I remembered the discussion out in the hallway. Rudy hadn't sent him away...had he?

"He's down in the lab. I'll send him in when we're done here, if you'd like."

I nodded, then pulled up slightly in the bed to look down at my legs. "You...made them?" I asked.

"Yes, I did. I'll explain it to you one day – soon – when you're a little stronger. It's pretty complicated. But anything you could do before, you can do now. Or at least, you will do again, with some practice."

I nodded...and smiled.

Rudy was good to his word and sent Michael straight in to see me. I didn't need him for anything medical or even to discuss anything important. I just wanted to see his face. We spent quite a lot of time together that week as I began to get well in earnest. Michael encouraged me to test my limits, but always hovered close by as an emotional safety net. I started depending on him more and more, leaning on him as I re-learned how to remain steady on legs that weren't truly my own, and crying on his shoulder when frustration inevitably took over. Like an impatient toddler, as soon as I'd taken those first tentative steps, I wanted to run.

"One step at a time, Jaime," he'd remind me gently, at least a dozen times a day. "You have to walk the path and climb the hills before you can tackle the mountain."

One afternoon, I became so disgusted with what I thought was my lack of progress that I picked up the wheelchair and threw it into a nearby field. I was amazed by the distance it traveled! "How did I...?" I started to ask. But Michael was already retrieving the chair. I shook my head, being quite the stubborn little brat. "I'm gonna walk," I insisted, shoving the offensive piece of metal and cushion away again.

"Jaime -"

"I can walk!" I proceeded to prove my point by staring defiantly at him instead of watching where I was going. Michael caught me just as my first foot went out from under me – at the top of the stairs. I grabbed onto him and he held me with one arm and the railing with the other, stabilizing the both of us. Still off-balance, I tumbled into him and we both fell backwards against the wall. With our arms around each other, we'd managed to remain upright – although quite smooshed together. Our faces were just inches apart.

I didn't think about what I was doing just then. It felt so good to be that close to someone I trusted so implicitly and...I kissed him. Neither one of us had seen _that_ coming, and in the stunned silence right afterward, we didn't move. My eyes met his and in that instant I felt not like a patient at all...but like a _woman_. We went from being smooshed together into holding each other close. I kissed him again, and this time, he kissed me back. His lips felt unimaginably soft and the kiss was long and sweet. When I got back in the wheelchair, we acted like nothing had changed – but of course, everything had.

So that was how it started. In some of his crankier moments, your father used to wonder why Rudy didn't put a stop to it right then and there – nip it in the bud before it really got started. I don't know the answer to that, but maybe Rudy could see how desperately I needed to be someone other than a helpless victim or a patient. Or (God forbid) a robot. I was a human being again, and it was a great feeling. Michael became my touchstone of safety and warmth in what seemed like a cold, complicated world. It was almost like there were two separate Michael's. When he first came to see me in the morning with his clipboard, he was all business. Vital signs, tests, questions – the whole routine. When he handed the clipboard over to Rudy and took my hand instead, then he was just _Michael_...and I was falling in love.

Then, your father suddenly re-entered the picture and everything began to change again. I was smack-dab in the middle of a good old-fashioned love triangle...and I didn't even know it.

* * * * *

November 8, 2009

I got a good chewing out from Rudy last night when he came in to check on me (it was pretty late) and found me still at the computer. I tried to explain to him how important this was to me (which he said he understood) and I pointed out that typing words on a keyboard isn't exactly taxing what's left of my resources. Still, he made me put away the laptop and lie down, just like I was a little kid. And he checked back a couple of times, too, to make sure I wasn't being sneaky. (Who...me?)

So the saga continues today, instead. Maybe I feel the need to more fully explain my actions when it came to Michael. Not that either one of us did anything wrong, but I do believe the situation was misunderstood.

When your father was reintroduced to me (as the only other bionic person on the planet), he wasn't _your father_ in any sense of the word. He wasn't even the chubby little guy I grew up with or the shoulder I'd cried on too many times to count. He was simply _Steve_...and he was a stranger.

After I threw the wheelchair and instead of bouncing a few feet away from us it flew into the field, it was time to have 'the talk' with Rudy. No, not about sex – about _bionics_. Talking about it has always made Rudy's face light up like nothing else in the world. Bionics is his baby – his life's work – and he has every right to be very, very proud. He gave me most of the basics and told me that one of the keys was to never over think it. To use them exactly like normal limbs (well, above and beyond 'normal', but you know what I mean) and to never wonder if they would work. Just know that they would and _use_ them. Doubt creates failure – in bionics, just as in life. Slowly, I began getting used to them again, testing the limits a little bit at a time and marveling at every step along the way.

I asked Michael if there were any other bionic people, and that's when I met Steve (again). I was still very shy and cautious about meeting anyone new, but Steve seemed even more reticent than I was, if that was possible. He had this shy little 'aw shucks' smile and he looked like he was afraid I'd shatter into a million pieces if he wasn't extremely careful. Apparently, I had known him before (he said we'd been friends) but like everything else from 'before', I drew a total blank. It made me feel terrible because he was obviously so happy to see me.

Rudy (and Oscar, apparently) had asked Steve to help me adjust to being fully bionic. Now that I was truly up and around, they thought it was best to _help_ me discover my abilities rather than let me experiment on my own and either hurt myself or run into problems. Steve showed me the upper limits of what we were able to do and then patiently assisted me in moving toward those goals. Rudy and Michael were usually on the sidelines with their ever-present stopwatch and clipboard, but sometimes Steve and I took off on our own, too.

We'd hike through the woods on either side of the complex and every so often I'd catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, like he was forcefully holding himself back from what he really wanted to say. I was very careful not to ask questions that I wasn't prepared to hear the answers to. Michael was always waiting when we emerged from the woods. At the time, I thought he looked so anxious because he was worried about my health – now, of course, I know differently.

I found I missed him terribly, even during those brief times apart. Yes, I'd grown too dependent on him (he'd been the first one I saw when I woke up, tending to my medical needs and my emotional ones, too)...but I was also falling in love. I'd run into his arms the minute I spotted him – and now my heart aches at the thought of the way I left Steve behind to bring up the rear. A couple of times, I saw Steve and Michael talking together with such intensity on their faces but it was always when I was occupied with something – swimming, running or in a conversation of my own, so I couldn't use my new-found eavesdropping ability to tune in on them. I was dying to know what they were talking about, and why they kept looking at me with those pained expressions.

Eventually, they told me I needed a break – to get away for a little while – and Steve was going to take me to his ranch to ride the horses and just relax. It sounded like heaven (except that Michael wouldn't be there). I was so absorbed in the sign at the edge of town saying that Steve was an astronaut that the name – Ojai – didn't register when I first saw it. It was beautiful there! Steve tried to convince me that there was enough to see and do, right there on the ranch, but I was determined to see the rest of what that pretty little town might have to offer. Steve told me he'd think about it, but that wasn't quite enough for me, so I snuck off on 'my' horse to explore on my own.

The downtown matched the pictures Michael and Rudy had shown me, and that was when I figured out why we were really there. I'd grown up in this idyllic place and the doctors were hoping it might trigger my memory. In some ways, it did. In other ways, it was a sobering, frightening experience. I couldn't understand why people looked at me so strangely! One woman even dropped her bag of groceries on the sidewalk and backed away! Everywhere I went, it seemed people were staring and since I had no idea who they were (had I known them before or not?), I just kept walking.

Since Michael had told me I'd been a tennis player, when I found the tennis court over by the park, I stopped to watch for awhile. One of the kids there recognized me and begged to hit some balls with him, so I decided to try. The racquet felt odd and foreign in my hand, but the volleys didn't seem very difficult. Then, when he ran off to find his friend, IT happened.

_**PAIN**_. Not a memory this time, but real, honest-to-goodness, lay-you-out-flat pain. Suddenly I couldn't see, couldn't hear...and had no idea what to do. I felt hands grabbing me, keeping me from sinking to the ground, and Steve's voice, coming from what seemed to be miles away rather than right next to me. He took me to the military hospital nearby, where Rudy and Michael would arrive first thing in the morning.

That night, I had a dream so intense that I woke up screaming. I couldn't begin to describe the images that flashed in my mind's eye because they were too disjointed and unfamiliar. When I woke up, I was still scrambled to shake away the images when Steve came running in. I took one look at him and (he told me later) my eyes rolled back in their sockets and I doubled over, holding my head. Doctors today like to use what they call a Pain Scale (from 1 – 10, how bad is the pain) – and this ranked about a 5000! It was unbearable. I don't remember if there were needles or if Steve simply calmed me down, but eventually I fell asleep and when I woke up again, I was back at Rudy's complex.

They re-focused their efforts on making me physically stronger, in the hope that might lessen the number and severity of these new attacks. I had decided in my own mind that it was Ojai that had caused all of the problems – and the pain – and that the best thing to do was move on. For awhile, it appeared that I was right.

Slowly, with Rudy and Michael's help and Steve's ever-patient assistance, I was able to do everything they wanted or expected from me, almost as well as Steve could. And...I got bored. By now, someone had explained to me who Oscar really was, and I began pestering him mercilessly for something to do. Finally, he agreed that I was ready (or he couldn't take the constant pleas any longer) and he sent me on an assignment with Steve.

On the plane ride in (especially when we strapped on our parachutes), I started getting these flashes that were more _feeling_ than memory – and the feeling was _pain_. Each little wisp of memory was so tantalizingly close but as my mind reached out to grab it, pain took its place, laughing at me like a grinning, evil deaths head. I pushed it aside as best I could, determined to _do this_, when I should've been paying attention to what my body was saying. It was too soon and there were issues that needed to be dealt with.

The mission was supposed to have been an easy one – in and out in less than a day – but my brain did another of its little freak-out dances and pulled my body along for the ride. Steve and I were lucky to escape with our lives! After this episode, everyone (myself included) realized that something needed to be done. Something drastic....

* * * * *

November 8, 2009

_Brain cell regeneration surgery._ I think that qualifies as a drastic measure. As much as I feared letting them cut into my head (my _head_!) and basically experiment on my brain, I knew I couldn't live like I had been any longer. The kaleidoscope of images was paralyzingly scary – and the pain was crippling. If they accomplished nothing else other than making the images recede and getting rid of that awful pain, well then I could live with that. Any memories that might be returned to me would be an added bonus.

Michael and Rudy had explained the risks of the procedure to me every day for the week or so it took to plan for the actual operation. They wanted to make absolutely certain I knew what I was agreeing to, that I understood what could happen (paralysis, death....or no effect whatsoever if the surgery failed) and had not changed my mind. What they didn't seem to get was that it's awfully hard to change your mind when that mind isn't really your own anymore.

Waking up after surgery was rather surreal. There were auras surrounding everything I looked at but they scattered when I blinked my eyes. I checked my fingers and toes. Everything moved – this was good. I hit the call button and waited only seconds. Rudy and Michael must have been right outside the door. I felt really foggy and a little frightened, still fighting my way up and out of the anesthetic, but they were smiling so I tried to smile, too. Not sure if I succeeded.

I showed them that I could move everything – that I wasn't paralyzed – and then the gentle, cautious questions began. I told them my name and their names, too. (No additional damage done – at the very least, I had retained what I already knew.) Then Michael leaned closer and asked me where I went to school. I didn't have to stop and think about it; the words just tumbled out of my mouth.

"Carnegie Tech."

Their eyes grew wide and their professional smiles became jubilant ones. It had come to me so easily and so naturally that it took a few seconds to realize that _I remembered!_ Michael gave me as close of a hug as he dared, given my condition and the fact that Rudy was right beside him. Then he eased me back down onto the pillow. He asked me if I remembered Steve. Suddenly, I realized that Steve and I had grown up together. I couldn't quite grasp the tiny details yet, but we had been children and then teenagers at the same time, on the same block and our families had been close friends. No wonder he'd been so distressed when I couldn't remember him!

Next, Rudy asked me about my skydiving accident. _Skydiving?!?_ I knew I'd been in a bad accident but this was the first I'd heard about skydiving. I thought maybe it wasn't true, that they were testing my memory by inserting a false fact or two. But by the way their faces fell, I knew it was a real question...it had really happened...and I couldn't remember it.

To have come this far and run flat-out into a brick wall was devastating. I was exhausted, discouraged and afraid. Before the doctors had even left the room, I'd given in to the tempting cloak of sleep.

My dreams became stranger than they'd ever been before – less threatening but far more confusing. So many new faces – some with names attached but most still without. The details alluded my sleeping self entirely, but bit by miniscule, agonizing bit, the waking pieces began to fall into place. At least, some of them did.

They kept pressing me about Steve (I couldn't figure out why) and about my accident, but I had nothing there to tell them. One day, they gave me a scrapbook full of old pictures and I devoured it eagerly, sitting beneath a tree on the grounds of the complex for most of the morning, fingering each picture and absorbing whatever I could about the people and places I was seeing. After lunch, I spent another hour or two beneath that tree and then looked up to see Michael standing there, grinning.

"I thought you might like to try this on for size," he said, handing me a tennis racquet. This time, unlike my trip to Ojai, it felt good in my hands and I thought that I just might know what to do with it. "There's a court just a few miles down the road," he offered. "I'll take you, if you'd like."

So, we went - that afternoon and for several more that followed. Michael admitted right off the bat that he'd be no match for me, skill-wise – but he was nonetheless a willing guinea pig. It was hard to learn to temper my strength and not send every ball sailing straight through the back fence, but as soon as I got the knack of it, I didn't want to stop. Once more, he'd known exactly what it would take to make me feel like _Jaime_ again.

* * * * *


	8. Chapter 8

November 9, 2009

Finally, we reached the point where I'd gained everything possible out of my hospital stay. Physically, I was fine. Emotionally, I was growing stronger every day. The nightmares came far less often and my memory had stabilized. There were still huge blank spots, but some of them would fill in with time. Others probably never would, but at least I had enough knowledge of myself and my past to rejoin the human race. There were only two problems.

It was time to go home, but...where was home? I had traveled the world on the tennis circuit ever since leaving college and never bothered to put down actual roots (at age 20, you believe you have all the time in the world). In a way, it was terrifying. It would've been such a comfort to have a home to go back to, to know there was a place waiting just for me – but it was liberating, too. I could go virtually anywhere in the country that I chose to start a brand new life. I picked Ojai because Jim and Helen were the closest people I had to family and the roots of my past were still there, whether I remembered all of them or not. It made for a good, solid center – a place to start.

The other problem was _Michael_. There had never been any question of the fact that he needed to continue his research and I needed to get started forging a life for myself. So I suppose we both knew from the beginning that it was fated to end – which is likely why we never expressed the full extent of our feelings for each other out loud. I hadn't intended to fall in love during that portion of my life – and especially not with my _doctor_ – but it happened. And it was devastatingly hard to say goodbye. I spent every second of that last day together in Michael's arms, not caring who saw us or what they might think. My heart was aching, and without the promise of a fresh new start, I'd probably have shattered into a million unrecognizable pieces. Michael was genuinely happy for me, that I was well again and that things were finally falling into place, but the pain in his eyes echoed my own. I watched out the window as the plane took off, until the last possible moment, when I couldn't see him any longer.

Jim and Helen welcomed me like I was truly their daughter. Helen stopped up at the carriage house every night to make sure I was eating right and settling comfortably into my new home. Every Saturday, I'd spend most of the day with them at the main ranch house and it was during one of the first of those visits that I stumbled upon a scrapbook. It was all about Steve and I grabbed it eagerly and settled onto the sofa. Maybe it could trigger a few more memories for me, I thought. Seemed like a fun way to spend the afternoon, but instantaneously, the mood in the room did a complete 180. Helen sat down right next to me and Jim leaned as close as possible, sitting on the ottoman. I saw the look that passed between them and it made me shiver.

The first few pictures were innocuous and adorable. Steve had been a pudgy little guy and I smiled as I saw his first day of school, his first fish and the two of us together in a sandbox. Nothing harmful there...so why were the Elgins looking so anxious? There was Steve at his high school graduation – and looking especially handsome a few years later when he escorted me to my Senior Prom in his brand-new Dress Uniform. Then came a photo of me in my cap and gown. I saw the same fearful look pass between the Elgins again and Helen put her hand down on the book before I could turn to the next page. I froze. Something was obviously wrong...and they were scaring the hell out of me. What could possibly be _that_ bad?

Their words were so gentle. I could sense they were trying to cushion some sort of awful blow. Very carefully, they told me that Steve and I were a lot closer than what I remembered. (The prom picture told me that. Okay, so we dated once or twice. What was the big deal...?) Smiling to reassure them I'd be alright, I turned the page...and there IT was.

'IT' was a newspaper article. _Jaime Sommers to marry Colonel Steve Austin_. It had to be a joke, one of those funny little mock newspaper headlines you can make at an amusement park. Except...it was real. I could tell by their faces and by Jim's asking me if I was feeling any pain that it was all too real. My God....no wonder he'd been so crushed when I couldn't remember him – and when he saw me kissing Michael!

The Elgins' first concern was whether I was feeling any pain – was I having another of those crippling 'episodes'? I wasn't, but what was going on inside my mind was sheer torture. What had obviously been one of the most important parts of my life was just gone, with a gaping hole in its place! I felt robbed, cheated and completely bereft – too stunned to cry or even to speak. I couldn't even begin to fathom it. How could I remember little things like my favorite Easter dress or the names of my teachers and still have a cold blank spot in my heart where the 'love of my life' was supposed to be?

Even more horrifying....how would I ever be able to face Steve again?

* * * * *

November 9, 2009

It seems really strange to be writing to the three of you, talking about your father and calling him Steve. But he was about as far from being your father as he could possibly be during that time. Basically (to me), he was a stranger. A stranger with whom I had shared most of my life and who I had once intended to marry. Now he was pictures in a scrapbook and things people had told me – and once I learned the truth about our past together, I was torn into two diametrically opposed pieces. On one hand, I wanted (needed!) to run through every bit of our past with him, to see if any of my memories might rise up to meet his. On the other hand...I was scared to death to face him. How would I react? How _should_ one react when meeting a former fiance that one barely remembers?

I began to devour every photo and news clipping that Helen had collected over the years and then went to the library to read all about Colonel Steve Austin, the astronaut, hoping each new bit of information might be the one to spark something inside of me....but none of them did. Would Steve even want to see me again, considering everything I'd put him through? Or would it simply be too painful?

I didn't have to wait long to find out. One his way back from an assignment in Thailand, Steve stopped in Ojai. We took a long walk through town together, down the main street and over to the school playground. We talked about the easy stuff at first – how we met (according to him, I was quite the little brat), the tree house we built together, and the time I dumped a whole bucket of sand over his head. (Well...he made me mad!) None of what he was saying really struck a chord in me, though. They were new memories for me, not old, but I did enjoy the way his eyes sparkled with the telling of each tidbit.

We passed the tennis courts, and watching the kids practicing brought back memories of Wimbledon and Forest Hills for me....but not of batting tennis balls with my dear friend. Maybe I was trying too hard, but it seemed like every time the memory was one that included Steve, it simply wasn't there. Total blank. Something in my psyche had stubbornly blotted him out entirely! It wasn't fair to him...or to me. Still, it was a beautiful day and a lot of fun hearing about what I had been like when I was a 'broomstick'.

Then we reached the lake and the mood changed completely – for both of us. Steve grew cautious, almost withdrawn, and I could see his eyes clouding over with pain. It was pain that I had caused him, and it made me ache inside. Slowly, the deeper _important_ stuff came out. He told me he'd withheld the information about our past from me because I'd been in so much pain before and he was afraid of the possibility of causing that pain again. I couldn't imagine the torment he went through, keeping all of that to himself for so long – I still can't fathom it.

He seemed shocked that I knew about our engagement. I wanted so badly to tell him that I could remember it – remember _him_ – or even a small part of what we'd shared...but I just couldn't lie to someone who'd been so kind to me. From what I'd seen since 'meeting' him at Rudy's complex, I knew that beneath his flippant, macho exterior, Steve was one of the most loving men I'd ever met. I'm not sure how many people could have been that self-sacrificing while watching me fall into the arms of another man. I could easily see _how_ I had once fallen in love with him, even though the feelings themselves seemed permanently AWOL. I was hoping we could spend some time together, taking it slowly and just seeing what might (or might not) develop...and I told him that. It was pitifully less than what we had shared before and I knew it, but it was all I was able to offer and (surprisingly), he agreed. We spent a little more time by the lake, just sitting together quietly, watching the water, then headed back to the ranch.

When he was leaving, I leaned into the car and satisfied my curiosity with one quick little kiss. Only, it didn't turn out to be quick...or little. Somehow, his lips pulled mine closer and kept me from breaking away. When it was over, he winked at me...and I was dumbfounded. I guess the three of you would say that kiss 'rocked my world'.

* * * * *

November 10, 2009

As much as I'd like to romanticize things here and say that Steve pulled me onto the back of his white horse and we rode off together into the sunset....it didn't happen that way. He was usually off in some far corner of the globe, 'for the good of the country' and when I wasn't doing the same (usually on the opposite side of the globe), I was teaching. Our desire to explore things further, to retest the waters, may have been strong, but geography and our careers kept us apart. Of course, occasionally we'd end up on assignment together, but standing in a nuclear sub, getting ready to be launched out a torpedo tube is hardly the time for romantic exploration and discovery.

Sometimes I wished I'd chosen to live on the East Coast, due to the sheer number of times I got 'escorted' onto a plane and flown there with little or no notice. Once Oscar saw that I was no longer going to mess up every assignment he gave me, he sent for me a lot more often. It's a wonder they let me keep my job at the Base, teaching the kids, but I suppose having someone willing to stick with that bunch (even someone who had to leave so often) was better than another dozen substitutes. The kids saw my face often enough that hopefully I was able to offer them at least a little more consistency than they'd had in the past.

It might seem almost like fun, to be flown all over the globe, pretending to be a different person with each mission and surviving mainly by my wits (and a lot of good luck). In truth, it was frightening, never knowing what might wait around the next corner, whether it would be an ally or a bullet with my name on it. It didn't get easier with time, either. There was always that little voice of fear in the back of my head....but maybe that was what kept me alive.

I visited Rudy several times a year (and more often, if there'd been a really rough assignment), to get tested and thoroughly checked over. Sometimes it made me feel like a car that was taken to the mechanic's shop, so I called them my 10,000 mile check-ups. It wasn't Rudy that made me feel that way. He was kind to the point of being loving in his care, and never treated me like anything less than a surrogate daughter. It was more the idea of having the mechanical stuff inside of me 'serviced'. I half-expected to sit in a chair with Valvoline dripping into my arm....but that was just me.

On one of those visits, I stumbled across Max. I had never imagined there might be a bionic _dog_!! But I suppose it makes sense. His body's reactions helped predict what would happen when bionics were added to a human body. For Steve and I, Max paved the way.

There was also a third bionic person, named Barney Hiller. I didn't find out about him until much later, because the story wasn't a happy one. It seemed his body adjusted fairly well to his new limbs...but his mind did not. Since I'd had my own little personal freak-out when I was in Rejection, they felt it was best not to tell me about Barney. He ended up having to be tuned down to 'normal' strength.

As if there is _ever_ anything normal about being bionic! Once it had ceased to be frightening to me, it still continued to seem...well....a little creepy. Even after Rudy invented and installed touch sensors, the feeling was never exactly the same as a flesh and blood limb...so I could never truly forget. The worst part was when the plasticine skin was cut (it seems strange to say 'injured' when talking about plasticine) and the wires were exposed. Even a tiny little hole had to be hidden quickly, as though it was something to be ashamed of. Of course, it was hidden for security purposes – and for my own safety – but it only made me feel that much more 'different'. Steve and I were always very careful to guard our power packs with our lives because – truly – they were what kept us alive. Strange that after so many years of doing that, they'd play such a large role in causing our deaths...

Anyhow, I had to convince myself along the way that 'normal' was simply a state of mind. What is considered normal for one person may be thoroughly abnormal for the next. For me, 'normal' was just ratcheted up a few notches. Running sixty or seventy miles an hour? Normal. Sleeping only a couple of hours a night and being okay with that? Normal. Being kidnapped at gunpoint or beaten nearly senseless by a gang of robots? Unfortunately....also within the realm of normality.

Through all of that, Steve was my touchstone. It helped immeasurably to know there was someone else out there who knew exactly what it felt like to have wires instead of veins. We didn't get to see each other nearly often enough, but when we did, we made the most of it. Sometimes, we'd even manage to arrange our 10,000 mile check-ups for the same week and would then have several days to just luxuriate in each other's company. When we weren't running laps for Rudy, that is.

I still wasn't sure exactly how I felt about Steve. While other memories of my past would sporadically just pop back into my head, the ones I'd shared with him never did. Rudy said it was a block in my psyche caused by the severe trauma of my accident (and the fact that Steve was connected to that). Maybe I was just trying too hard.

It was obvious how Steve felt about me. He never really voiced it because he didn't want to pressure me or make me feel any guiltier than I already did, but it was written all over his face, every time he looked at me. The best way I can describe it is a kid whose parents never allowed him any sugar, standing with his face pressed up against a candy store window.

Meanwhile, I seemed to be getting paired more and more often with an agent named Chris Williams.

* * * * *

November 10, 2009

I had a few flings with fellow agents and allies during my earliest years at the OSI but nothing serious or lasting. Chris was different. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of Steve. He was quiet and strong (not bionic strong, but strong enough) and we worked well together as a team. It took two assignments and three dates before Chris found out I was bionic. I mean, he had the proper clearance level – he'd even worked with Rudy on several projects in the past – so he certainly knew what 'bionic' meant. It's just not the sort of thing that comes up in casual conversation.

"By the way, the arm you're caressing (or the one that's caressing _you_..." Not such a turn-on.

"Oh, did I mention I can knock you into next week if you make me mad?" Not a heart-warmer.

"Hey, guess what?" Um...no.

There really is no good way to bring it up. Chris found out the same way Roger did – and the same way a few of my more casual dates did, as well – in a life-threatening situation with no other way out. It wasn't awkward at the time; we were too busy surviving. Later, though, once Rudy had patched me up and we were face to face again, Chris felt almost as awkward as I did. To his credit, he still asked me out for a fourth date and after that initial 'holy crap' stage, it ceased to be an issue.

Love is a matter of chemistry – you either have it or you don't – and Chris and I had it in spades. We seemed to 'click' almost immediately because we were each exactly what the other needed. We nearly split for good when I tried to leave the OSI and Chris seemed to be siding with the people who wanted to send me to their lovely little 'retirement community'. He was already starting to envision us being together for the rest of our lives and (in his mind) giving in to the NSB's demands was the only way we could still do that.

Maybe I will go into more of that awful time when I was briefly a hunted felon later, but for now I'll just say this: Chris was wrong. There was another way, and once Oscar helped me to find it, Chris re-entered my life. We were rocky for quite awhile after that, but eventually worked it out. His intentions were only good ones, and at least he didn't go so far as to turn me in. That was how I found a way to forgive him.

A psychologist would probably be tempted to say I was looking for a Steve-substitute...but it wasn't like that at all. We shared a lot of interests – and one of the biggest was the desire for some sort of life _outside_ the OSI. So we did a lot of 'silly' things together. We went to kids' movies, always sitting in the back row and laughing louder than any of the children in the theater. We flew kites at the park and loved to row a canoe out to the middle of the lake where we'd sit and have a picnic while the waves battered us up and down. Snowball fights, leaf piles and dancing in the rain – we laughed our way through all of it.

We were both adrenaline junkies (you almost have to be, working where we did) and Max helped bond us together, as well. He adored Chris (okay, alright, so did I). Like your father, there was a side to Chris that most of the world never saw...a softer, tender side. I guess I've always had it bad for the big, gruff teddy bear type! We never lived together, but we might as well have. We talked a lot about marriage but somehow never agreed to take that step. It was something for our future, we both thought. We had lots of time...

Except...we didn't.

We had just come off of a really rough assignment and we were both exhausted - especially Chris, since he didn't have the extra stamina advantage bionics provides. There was an emergency at one of our Embassies in South America and since Steve was up in Skylab at the time, Oscar had no choice but to send two very weary warriors back into battle.

I don't remember the explosion. But immediately before it happened, Chris and I had gotten separated. I stopped to listen to something I'd heard behind a door and (not noticing), he kept on going. They told me the explosion was just on the other side of the door, and I took the full concussive force of the blast. Thankfully, though, it was enough to throw me clear of the resulting rubble.

By the time I opened my eyes again, I was back in the States and Rudy was hovering around my bed. At first, he wouldn't answer when I asked about Chris. I was still so out of it that I accepted the silence and just drifted back to sleep. Finally (I'm not sure how many days later), I woke to find Oscar with Rudy, just sitting there waiting for me to wake up. He told me Chris had been captured in the chaos right after the explosion. They'd sent a team in after him....but it was already too late.

It was too much to take! We'd had a minor squabble on the plane ride down to South America, and never really patched it up before we dove in and got to work. I never got the chance to tell him I loved him, one last time. Rudy and Oscar both assured me that Chris knew that, but it didn't help. I sent them both away, wanting to absorb the loss all by myself...and I cried myself to sleep. The dreams were horrible. Chris was reaching out, calling my name, just after the explosion...and I couldn't get to him. Then he was sitting all alone in a tiny cell when the little window in the door slid open. I wondered in my dream (and later, when I was awake) if he had seen what was coming. I prayed to God that he didn't...

I drifted somewhere between sleep and true unconsciousness for several days, and when it was time to rejoin Planet Earth, something truly strange had happened to me...

* * * * *


	9. Chapter 9

November 12, 2009

A bad day yesterday. Lots of morphine and lots of tests. Things are progressing pretty much the way we expected they would. There were no surprises – good or bad. But afterward, I had to spend the day flat on my back in bed. In some ways, I welcomed the extra rest, but I missed what I am doing here – creating this journal. I need to make sure I can get it all out while I still have the time and ability to do so.

When I woke up in the hospital after I had 'died', my dreams were frightening, confusing and overwhelming. So many faces without names or histories behind them. They knew me and I didn't know them, not even if they were friend or foe. When I first woke up in the hospital after the explosion and Chris's death, my dreams were....frightening, confusing and overwhelming. Images came flying into my dreams from every direction, melting and kaleidoscoping together, just like they had when I had no memory. This time, though, there was one huge difference:

_All of the faces had __**names**_!

The effect was startling, especially because it was so sudden and unexpected. It was as though my entire life had been locked into one huge, inaccessible diary (like the kind I kept when I was younger) and someone had just handed me the key. Every page was suddenly open and readable. Well, not exactly, because it seemed like I had already read them! It was all – finally – there. Even...._Steve_.

At first, I didn't know what to do, how to react or who to tell. Rudy found me sitting up in bed with what he called 'saucer eyes'. "I...I know them..." I told him.

He looked at me like he wanted to flee the room and return with a snug little white jacket, just for me. How could I explain this to him, when I didn't understand it myself? It was all so real and so vivid...or maybe his first instinct was right and I had finally lost what remained of my mind.

"You know _who_, Honey?" he asked, treading very carefully.

"Everybody – all of them. Rudy...I _remember!_"

I could see the moment it began to sink in. All at once, he stopped looking at me like an escapee from an asylum, his eyes saucered to match mine and his smile covered his entire face. "You mean...?" he asked.

I nodded. "I don't even have to try – it's all right there, like it always should've been!"

"Jaime, that's wonderful," he said, checking me over just the same for any abnormalities or signs of delirium. "Any pain – anywhere?"

"No! I can remember all of it, too! My prom, my graduation, getting engaged....Rudy, I remember _Steve!_" With that, I stopped talking as my body took a sudden, dramatic jolt. Yes, I remembered Steve...and everything that came with him. Including my accident. My hand flew to my mouth and I closed my eyes, but the memory was there now. It was mine and I had no choice but to own it with all of the others.

"What is it?" Rudy looked so alarmed. "Pain?"

I shook my head and laid back on the pillow, letting each detail sink in with all of its graphic, horrid detail. "My accident..." I finally told him.

Rudy pulled up a chair. "It might help if you talk about it," he urged.

So I told him about all of it. It had been such a beautiful day! Steve inspected my equipment personally, and spent a huge amount of time making sure I understood every nuance of what we were about to do. We kissed once for good luck and then jumped. Steve tumbled over toward me and we grabbed hands. The view when I looked down simply took my breath away – there's no other way to describe it. We were falling fast but floating at the same time. Like Steve had told me, it really _was_ the closest a human being could come to truly flying.

I looked at my gauge and it was just about time to pull the chord, so we kissed once more, I took a deep breath and then gave the cord a tug. This swooping _whoosh_ of air lifted me up and away from him as the 'chute opened and then I began to really float, just drifting down toward Earth like a random feather in a spring breeze. It was a feeling I can't describe other than to say it felt like _freedom_.

Steve waited a couple of extra seconds to pull his own cord so that he could land before I did and help me come in more easily. I knew the very instant it happened that something had gone wrong. Couldn't hear anything other than the air around me, but there was an ominous jerk and floating turned quickly into plummeting. I looked up and the 'chute had folded into itself and there was nothing to slow my descent. I looked down but all I saw were trees, coming at me faster and faster. I tried to pull the reserve cord...but it was too late. It all happened way too fast.

I remember hitting the treetops and the sudden, horrific pain of my body being bent in directions bodies are never intended to take. Blessedly, I blacked out before hitting the ground.

Rudy had tears of empathy in his eyes when I finished the story. I had tears, too. I didn't have to ask him if I'd gotten it right; there was no doubt in my mind that this was the whole, painful story that my conscious mind had been protecting me from for years. For a few moments, we were both too stunned to say anything.

"We'll need to run some tests," Rudy finally told me.

"I know."

"Do you want me to call Steve?" he offered.

I shook my head. "Not yet. I – I've still gotta sort this all out," I explained. "The feelings I have. I mean, Chris just died."

"I understand," Rudy acknowledged. He patted my hand. "I want you to rest now. If you need anything..."

"I know where the buzzer is." As he left the room and I closed my eyes, I felt more than a little dishonest...and afraid. There was one other thing that I hadn't mentioned to Rudy – that I was scared to give voice to at all.

_I could remember the day I __**died**_.

* * * * *

November 13, 2009

Friday the thirteenth – what an appropriate day to talk about the bizarre and unthinkable. It seems strange now to say that _I died_ over half of my lifetime ago! It was one memory that (even more than my accident) I could've been perfectly happy _not_ getting back! By choosing not to mention it to Rudy right away, I gave that ultimate worst-nightmare of a memory the chance to fester and torment. Awake and asleep, I was reliving it over and over again, all night long. Death itself is not frightening, but what led up to it for me (more than three decades ago) was a night I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

It still seems strange to write to you about your father and call him 'Steve', but even though we were engaged at the time (more on that later), he was still a very long way from being your father. We had just returned (three days earlier) from my very first-ever assignment for Oscar and the OSI. It was NOT a rousing success. My right hand had been having spells where it shook uncontrollably, and it caused me to set off an alarm when I was supposed to be opening a safe. Steve and I jumped from a second story window and _ran_...with gunfire echoing behind us. But now we were home safe and (we thought) sound – and set ourselves back to the task of planning our wedding.

I'd managed to convince Steve that my hand shaking had been a fluke – that it was my 'system adjusting', but it kept happening. He was rather angry, feeling I'd kept it from him (which, actually, I had) and for a few moments I thought he was going to hoist me over his shoulder and forcibly carry me off to see Rudy. But I promised to let Rudy know what was going on as soon as possible and Steve seemed placated for the moment.

I was tense and snappish, too. Even the smallest little things irritated me but I blamed it on pre-wedding jitters and suggested we might play a bit of tennis to work off the excess energy. It wasn't a good idea. I should've gone straight to Rudy, but you know what they say about hindsight...

Anyhow, my game was a little off that day. I was still winning, but I could tell _something_ wasn't right. Steve and I disagreed about something very minor....and then all hell broke loose. Thank heavens for his bionic-fast reflexes, or the tennis racquet I winged in his direction probably would've killed him. Instead, when I looked up, it was embedded in a metal pole on the other end of the court.

_What the __**hell**__ was happening to me?_ Not only was I having trouble controlling my limbs...my mind seemed to be taking off on its own, too! After that, I had no further argument. Steve helped me to the car and took me straight to the hospital.

They did tests, X-rays and more tests and then I was taken up to a room while Rudy met with Oscar and Steve. (There was, after all, no question that I'd be staying the night. That was a given.) The nurse gave me a gown, and I was just about to put it on....but the very last nerve in my nervous system frazzled (or that's what it felt like) and I got up and started to pace.

It's hard to explain how it felt, but it was sort of like everything was moving too quickly and yet I was in slow motion. I started to pour myself a glass of water but looked up into the mirror...and saw a _stranger_ with wild eyes. The face seemed whirled and distorted – and then everything else did too. I couldn't look at _her_ anymore, so I spun around and knocked the mirror, the water pitcher and everything on the dresser to the floor. All of a sudden, a pain slashed through me that was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was like a thousand white-hot axes smashing into my head from every direction. I couldn't think anymore; I could only react. Then I started to _run_.

There were people in my path, but I didn't really see them. All I knew was I had to get out of there! If I ran fast enough, maybe I could out-run the pain! By now, it was dark outside and torrents of rain pelted my face but it didn't matter. I couldn't really see anyway. I don't think I was entirely conscious – moving more on random instinct than thought-based facts.

I had to get away! Tried jumping into a tree, but now my legs were as wobbly as my arm, the tree was slick with the rain and I couldn't keep my perch. Strange that falling didn't seem to hurt...

_Had to get away!_ I found an old barn and kicked the door in. There was a horse inside but when I tried to mount him, he bucked me off.

_Had to get away!_ I ducked behind a huge pile of hay and started piling it on top of myself....but the pain found me there, too.

_HAD to get away!_ There was a little farmhouse – no lights on. Maybe it was deserted and I could hide inside? But then I heard people talking. They'd only take me back to the hospital...and more pain.

_HAD to GET AWAY!!!_ For a moment, I thought I heard Steve calling to me, but decided it was only the rain. My legs were threatening to buckle with every stride now, and when I saw the old phone booth, Steve's voice came back to me. Would he help me – or turn me over to _them_? The last tiny bit of self-preservation in me took over and I picked up the receiver. Why wasn't Steve on the other end? (Of course, I hadn't dialed or even put in a coin, but my circuits - literally and figuratively - were so overloaded that it didn't enter my mind to do so. ) He should've been there! Suddenly, the thousand axes multiplied ten-fold and I truly couldn't see at all. I pushed my way out of the phone booth and just as my legs gave out entirely, I felt strong arms grab me and swoop me up. I heard his voice but was barely able to register in my mind that it was Steve before I blacked out entirely.

Except...it doesn't quite end there. I watched (somehow) as Steve carried me, running at bionic speed through the rain, back to the hospital. By the time they put my body on the table in the operating room, if I could have, I'd have told them not to bother. I was already gone.

It was a sensation beyond strange, odd or surreal. I was still lying there on that table, but when I looked the other way, Mom and Dad were smiling at me. They held out their arms and I sort of floated toward them. To hug them again, after so very long! But just before my fingers touched theirs, they turned sharply to look in the direction I'd just come from – and then so did I. As soon as I turned, without any chance to think about it (much less to choose), I was slammed back into that abandoned body on the table...and into the darkness.

Now that this memory was back (and I'd chosen not to share it with Rudy), it tormented me for the rest of the night and into the morning. When I finally told him – the very second he walked in the door because I just wanted it _out_ of me – he sighed.

"That was one memory I hoped you'd never have to relive," he said.

I had to agree.

* * * * *

November 14, 2009

I'm needing a little more rest between entries now. Nothing serious, just precautionary at this point. We can't stop what is happening, but perhaps we can slow it just a little, buying a bit more time.

Anyhow, after the explosion, once Rudy got over the initial shock of finding out that I remembered my own death, he asked me what I wanted to do about it. Was there anyone I wanted him to call? Steve...or maybe Jim or Helen? Strangely (or maybe not so strangely), the person I needed most to talk to right then was _Oscar_.

For Jim and Helen, most of these new memories would be simply too hard to hear. For Steve, I was afraid they'd be too painful. I wasn't ready to see him yet. Until I could resolve in my own mind if what I was really feeling was _love_ or merely the memory of love...it wouldn't be fair to lead him on. Oscar, I knew, would pull no punches. He would tell me the plain, unvarnished truth.

We had grown much closer than just boss-and-employee. When I had tried (a little more than a year earlier) to leave the OSI, Oscar had risked his career and his personal safety to come and warn me that the NSB was on their way to lock me up. Sure, it was a pleasant little 'retirement community' – all expenses paid and every whim attended to – but it lacked one thing Oscar knew was of utmost importance to me..._freedom._ So he risked everything he'd spent his life working for to find me and tell me to _run_. He, himself, had taught me how to evade capture and he urged me to use that knowledge to keep myself free.

He took Max by the collar and turned to go, then faced me one more time and very quietly said "I love you." That opened all the floodgates for me because I realized that...I loved him, too. I hugged him close and told him how I felt, but there was so little time. At that moment, I wanted to hold onto him and never let go...but I knew I couldn't do that. He was risking so much just to be there. I couldn't ask him to throw it all away – an entire lifetime of loyalty and dedication – just for me. I think he probably would've come with me in a heartbeat, but it wouldn't have been in his best interests...or our country's.

But I took those three little words deeply to heart, knowing that if I ever needed him, he was a rock I could lean on. And with all of these new memories and conflicting emotions brewing and stirring around inside of me, I needed someone who was bold and strong enough to lay it all on the line. Oscar, I knew, would do exactly that.

When Rudy called him, he dropped everything and flew all the way across the country, arriving before dinnertime. I could tell he'd come straight from the airport because he hadn't lost any of his traveler's momentum as he sailed into the room. He looked at me for a moment, able to assess me with just a glance.

"It's really true," he stated. "You have your memory back." I must have looked at him rather strangely because he went on. "It's in your eyes," he said, pulling up a chair. He looked at me more closely. "You seem _complete_ now. And I also see a lot of pain, confusion...and fear."

"Can't fool an Intelligence man," I acknowledged.

"Talk to me, Babe."

"It's haunting me," I told him. "I mean, I know it's been less than 24 hours, but I'd already like a lot of this to just go away. Except... I know it won't. It can't, unless I drag it all out and deal with it. So I'm trying to do that." I could feel myself starting to dissolve. "It's just...so hard. There's a lot of pain..."

Oscar frowned. "It hurts when you remember?" he asked anxiously. "Does Rudy know that?"

"No – not that kind of pain. I mean, I remember pain I can't even begin to describe....but it doesn't hurt now. I – I'm more worried...about hurting others."

"Like Steve," Oscar stated. It wasn't a question; he simply _knew_.

"Yeah. Like Steve."

"Tell me how I can help you."

"I'm just so confused," I told him, no longer holding back the tears. "I loved Chris – I really did -"

Oscar nodded. Already, he understood. "I know you did. But now this has come up, with feelings that seem fresh and brand-new because, well, for you...they are."

"Yeah..."

"I didn't know you and Steve as a couple for very long before...everything happened," he said slowly, "but I can tell you that what you had was very special. There was a lifetime of history behind you -"

"Good _and_ bad," I put in.

"Right. But that history solidified you as a couple in a way most people never experience. If you want my opinion..."

"Of course I do."

"I think you need to see Steve. Talk to him, tell him what's happened."

"I...can't. What if I drag him all the way in here....for nothing?"

"I don't think it would be for nothing. And besides, you wouldn't need to do any dragging."

"I'm sure he's found someone else by now. Or even a bunch of someones."

Oscar chuckled, just a little. "Steve's been playing the field, most definitely. But none of it serious. He's trying to keep himself from missing _you_."

"Really?"

"They're all flings, Jaime. Nothing more. I know for a fact that he still loves you."

Hearing that, all I could do was cry.

"And he knows you've just lost Chris," Oscar continued. "He'll tread lightly. No pressure – I can virtually guarantee it."

"But what if I'm not really _feeling_ these feelings?" I asked. "I've already caused him too much pain. He doesn't deserve -"

Oscar patted my hand. "He doesn't deserve to _not_ know what's going on," he said gently. "And I don't really think you can resolve this one way or the other without seeing him in person and looking in his eyes. You need to trust your heart – it'll tell you what to do." For every objection I could come up with (and believe me, I tried 'em all), Oscar found a gentle counter-argument. "So," he finally concluded, wiping away the last of my tears, "how about if I call Steve?"

Just as he did every day in Washington, Oscar had cut through the details, right to the heart of the matter - and in record time, too. I knew he would; that was why I'd called him.

True to what Oscar had said, Steve was not content to take the next commercial flight out. He chartered a plane and headed out on his own immediately. That night, I tried to rest because I knew I'd need it. Steve would be there first thing in the morning.

* * * * *


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as I'd agreed to let Oscar call Steve, I wished I hadn't! How would I face him? What would I say? "I think that maybe I love you...but I'm not sure..." No.

"You won't believe this, but guess what happened?" Not as bad, but still...no.

Nothing that I was coming up with seemed right, and Oscar sensed my turmoil. He stayed with me for a couple more hours, just letting me get it all out – the tension, the anxiety and the awful dread that maybe Steve wouldn't understand...and that he'd reject me outright.

"I can guarantee you that won't happen," Oscar assured me, kissing my cheek as he said goodnight. "And when he gets here, you'll know exactly what to do. I promise."

With that, I was alone. I thought a lot about Chris that night. Why hadn't we ever married? We'd been together for a couple of years – and I loved him. What, exactly, was holding me back? Could it possibly have been _Steve_? While Chris and I had agreed (often) that marriage was in our future, there was never a concrete date set, any plans made or even an actual engagement. Steve and I had most of our lifetime together backing us up and were already planning menus and seating charts. The wedding was so close...and then _IT_ happened.

I couldn't even imagine the pain Steve must have gone through! He bore it so gallantly, never pressuring me and happy just to be the friend I needed him to be. I never saw what I was really putting him through, but as I lay in bed that night, I realized just how terrible it must have been for him. The very last thing I wanted to do was hurt him any further.

I was still mulling this over when Rudy came in to check on me. "It's late, Honey," he told me. "I know you've got a lot to think about, but you also need to rest."

"I don't want a sedative," I said, heading him off at the pass.

"I know you don't. But you're recovering from a serious injury, not to mention additional trauma and anxiety – and I am your doctor, so..."

Sighing, I held out my left arm. There was no arguing with Rudy.

* * * * *

When Rudy did his first-thing-in-the-morning check on me (for years, I wondered if the man ever slept), he was smiling. "You're healing nicely," he told me, pushing the tray table over to the bed so I could start on the breakfast that was already waiting for me.

"How do you feel?" he asked as I dug not-so-enthusiastically into my powdered eggs. "About today, I mean."

"I'm scared," I admitted.

"Don't be. Look at it as seeing an old, dear friend again. Nothing more. That way, anything else is a wonderful surprise."

"What time do you think he'll be here?" I asked.

"He got here about an hour ago."

I nearly dropped my toast! Rudy gave me his most empathetic, reassuring grin. "Relax. He's perfectly happy, having coffee in my office. He'll wait until you're ready."

Could I _ever_ be ready enough? I would just have to wing it. "Does he _know_?" I asked. "What'd you tell him?"

"Just that you wanted to see him. Nothing more. The rest is totally up to you."

_Well, great,_ I thought to myself. _Especially since I have absolutely no idea what to say..._

After breakfast, I changed into my favorite nightgown and robe (not exactly haute couture, but it _was_ a hospital), brushed my hair, took several deep, steadying breaths and let Rudy know I was ready. It was time.

Steve walked in cautiously, unsure of what to expect, I guessed. I had a fleeting thought that right now we were more like strangers than when I'd had amnesia and not known him at all. But the awkwardness was gone by the time he reached my bed. He told me how sorry he was to hear about Chris, we hugged and then he stepped back and eyed me curiously.

"What?" I had to ask. "Do I have horns or something?"

He told me he had brought two presents and had intended to give me one or the other, depending on the situation. (He seemed even less sure of what was going on than I was.) Then he said he guessed he'd bring them both in and let me choose. He ducked out the door and returned with a beautiful flowering plant that he set on the bedside table, but before I could thank him, he bounded back out into the hall. All of a sudden, this big, fuzzy face peered around the door frame. It was a huge stuffed rabbit, very much like one I'd had when I was little, and its head was bouncing, making the oversized ears lob up and down as one big paw waved hello.

All of my tension and anxiety drained right out of me – because I simply HAD to laugh. The rabbit was wearing a pair of hot pink, Jaime-sized bunny slippers!

"You always did know how to make me smile," I told him. I think that, in that very instant, he _knew_.

It was an odd (but not unwelcome) sensation. Past, present and possibly even future all melded together for both of us, in one single instant. Steve _knew_ without my having told him, exactly why I'd wanted to see him. What's more, I knew that he knew. Very quietly, he asked me how it had happened. I told him about the explosion, about being blown free of the rubble and debris...and about how I'd lost Chris. Steve started out holding my hand but by the end of my story he was hugging me close in a quiet gesture of tenderness and comfort.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," he told me.

I leaned into him, absorbing both the newness and the familiarity of his embrace. It felt too good to break away. When he did lean back into the chair again, Steve raised one eyebrow and gave me a slight smile.

"So...which one's it gonna be?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"The bunny...or the plant?"

I had to laugh. "Well, the flowers are beautiful – my favorite color, no less – but how can I resist such bright, fuzzy slippers?"

Steve grinned and slipped them on my feet. "For that choice, you get both – the plant too – no extra charge."

I smiled my thanks and then found that somehow, I couldn't stop looking at him. Slowly, the smile vanished and I was still staring into those bright aqua-colored eyes.

"What it is?" he asked.

"I guess I'm just not sure how to handle this," I admitted. "Any of it. Losing Chris and then gaining...so much – all at the same time."

"It has to be confusing," he acknowledged.

"Yeah. And, well..." _(Alright, out with it, Jaime!)_ "I'm not sure if I can give you what you're looking for. If you're looking for anything at all, where I'm concerned, that is."

"There aren't too many people who've come all the way back from the dead," he told me. "And with everything else you've had to contend with, you're blazing new trails here, Sweetheart. This is strictly your call."

"Well, not exactly..."

Steve took my hand again...and kissed it. "Jaime, I am happy just to be your friend, to still be able to have you in my life. Anything more than that is gravy. Okay – I admit I love gravy, but I don't want you to think you _have_ to do anything or feel a certain way on account of me. Let's just move one step at a time. Deal?"

I always was a sucker for a good deal.

* * * * *

When Rudy released me from the hospital a few days later, it was Steve who came to take me home. Instead of driving directly back to the ranch, though, he pulled the car into the little side lot next to the park on Lake Casitas. "I thought you might like to reconnect with nature a little bit," he offered.

Water has always been a source of inspiration, comfort and quietude for me – and of course, he knew that. We sat for awhile, just looking at the water like we used to do. I'll admit I also spent a lot of time looking at _him_, at his rugged, broad shoulders and the kindness in his eyes. "This is perfect," I whispered (not looking at the water at all just then).

"Definitely perfect," he agreed. He wasn't looking out at the waves, either.

I thanked him again, for everything – for being so understanding and so good to me, for giving up everything just to keep from causing me any more pain...and for bringing me back to this beautiful place. It was especially welcome after such a long stint in the hospital (again).

"I don't think I'd mind a bit if I never saw the inside of another hospital," I told him.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I'd say you've had more than your share."

"I adore Rudy – you know that – but still..."

Steve smiled. "You've never been one to just lay around in bed." As usual, he understood.

When the sun started to duck low on the horizon, we got ready to go. "I don't think you should have to cook dinner for yourself tonight," he stated with a grin. "I'd offer to cook something for you, but -"

"But California has fire codes."

"Yeah. So how about the Capri?"

We got a few curious looks from our neighbors as we sat sharing a pizza in our old haunt, but it didn't matter to us in the least. We made small talk with everyone who approached our table – and told the 'lost in a crevice' story to anyone brave enough to ask. Privately, I couldn't wait for the day when the sight of me didn't make people think they were seeing a damn ghost!

* * * * *

Steve was good to his word. He didn't pressure me in any way and certainly didn't come on too strong. In fact, I think he was using the Leave-Em-Wanting-More strategy. He called every day (usually twice a day) to see how I was feeling, but we only saw each other a couple of times a week at first. I still thought about Chris a lot (and it hurt terribly) but the tears were tempered by thoughts of just how much I'd gained. Finally, I was a whole person again! A person with a real past, instead of a bunch of nameless faces and forgotten dreams.

When Rudy called me back to his complex for an early 10,000-mile check up because, well, because he's _Rudy_...Steve went with me. It was so much easier enduring the endless tests and timed laps with him by my side. There may have even been a little bit of healthy competition going on there, but I'm not about to tell you who won. Let's just say I was getting stronger and healthier every day. And every day (so slowly that it was almost imperceptible and yet always comfortable), I was starting to want to grow closer to Steve...

* * * * *

Steve didn't want to pressure me and I didn't want to rush him...so we were at a sort of impasse. We both longed to be closer but neither of us seemed able to take that next step. Fortunately, the OSI solved that problem – in spades. Oscar sent us deep into the Peruvian jungle to take down a group of drug smugglers who'd decided weapons would be equally as profitable. They'd stockpiled a warehouse full of equipment, most of it stolen and all of it deadly. There were more than a dozen of them (armed to the teeth, of course) and only two of us. To accomplish our mission and get out of there in the same shape in which we'd gone in, we had to have complete faith and utter trust in each other.

There were only two very small (miniscule, really) problems. We'd be parachuting in...and the jungle was full of _snakes_. As we approached the drop zone and began getting ready, I knew Steve was thinking about the last assignment that had us jumping from a plane together. Not a rousing success by anyone's standards – except maybe the man we'd been supposed to apprehend. On the other hand, I was thinking of a different experience with parachutes...

"Are you okay?" Steve asked. I nodded, careful not to meet his eyes. "'Cause you seem sort of shaky. And pale, too."

"I can do this," I told him.

"I know that." He grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him directly. "You'll be alright," he said in a firm voice.

I nodded again, trying not to think about the huge clumps of trees on every side of the small target area we were about to be aiming for. I closed my eyes for a second and could almost _feel_ the moment when my body had plummeted straight into a grove of trees and....my eyes snapped open with the jolt. "I'm _gonna_ do this," I said again, hiking myself and my gear over to the hatch. I knew if I didn't do it then – if I backed out – I would likely never overcome the fear. Besides, there was no way I was letting Steve go into that jungle alone!

I'd think about the snakes _after_ we landed.

The jump was a smooth one, although I think I held my breath until my feet were back on terra firma. We folded and stashed our equipment and (right on schedule) as we were coming out of the bushes, the first snake swung down from a tree, hanging right in front of my face. I ducked under him, stifled my scream and kept going – albeit just a bit faster now.

"I'm impressed," Steve told me.

"Piece-a-cake," I answered. (Now if only my heart would start beating again....!) Lucky for me that I couldn't feel the snakes as they slithered past our legs. I told myself I could have nightmares later but for now, I just had to keep going.

The jungle overgrowth (and the heavy roots and stalks that covered the ground) were no match for two bionic arms and four bionic legs. Neither, for that matter, were the dozen men in that compound. We worked out a plan that called for precise coordination. I went in first, as a nature-loving explorer lost in the dark, deep jungle. They weren't _really_ buying it, but a slight flash of leg distracted them long enough for me to wing them – and for Steve to take them down. I swore at the beginning of my career to never, EVER, use sex as a weapon – and I didn't. The _thought_ of sex, with a slight accompanying glimpse of such a well-crafted leg (kudos, Rudy)....well, I wasn't beyond that! We worked our way through their little compound with me lining 'em up and Steve knocking 'em down until every one of them was firmly in custody. Not a single shot was fired and they were soon on their way into the belly of the Justice system while Steve and I were treated to a first-class ride back to the States in one of the OSI's private jets.

There wasn't a chance to clean up at all, and we were both looking pretty ragged and jungle-worn, but chilled champagne had never tasted sweeter. I wondered idly to myself what our accommodations would've been had we failed in our assignment. Maybe...warm champagne and no snacks?

Anyhow, we could finally settle back, breathe a bit – and congratulate each other on a job well done. Steve raised his glass and made a toast, calling me the bravest _person_ he'd ever known. (Surprisingly, he didn't temper that with the word 'woman'.) I toasted back that even the bravest were only as good as their partner. And then (**finally**), after weeks of agonizing about the 'right moment' and still sweaty and grubby as hell...we kissed. The good kind. Partly because our lips were likely the cleanest spots on our entire bodies – but mostly because _it was time_.

* * * * *

After a long, hot bath for me and (I'm guessing) a shower for Steve and then a good night's sleep for both of us, we met bright and early for breakfast. He told me that I cleaned up rather nicely and (thinking of a much earlier time and hoping he remembered it, too) I told him he didn't smell as bad as usual.

* * * * *


	11. Chapter 11

As Steve and I started to become closer, I found myself dreaming about Chris. He was always trapped in that awful, tiny cell, reaching out his hand and calling to me...but I couldn't get to him in time. Several times a night, I'd wake up shaking all over, with tears streaming down my face. Had I failed him? If I'd tried a little harder, done things a little differently (like made sure we'd stuck together instead of getting separated), could he have been saved? Or would we both have been captured – or killed in the blast?

After a few nights, I really wasn't sleeping anymore and it showed. Steve was on a new assignment and although he was open to hearing anything I might have to say, I didn't feel right talking to him about this. Rudy was still hovering around Los Angeles (since I hadn't been an ex-patient long enough for him to stop worrying), so I gave him a call.

His well-practiced eyes looked me over as I sat down in his office. "You're not sick," he stated. "And you're not hurt – but there's definitely something on your mind."

"Yeah," I told him. (I know, brilliant answer, huh?)

"Is it Steve? Things aren't going so well?"

"Oh no – nothing like that. Things are...wonderful."

Rudy's eyebrows raised up over the tops of his glasses. "And I almost believe you. You aren't sleeping enough, are you?"

"I'm not sleeping at all. It's the best way to avoid dreaming."

"About...?" He just wouldn't let up (and I love him for that).

"Well...about Chris." I told him about the dreams, about how it felt like I could almost save Chris – _should've_ saved him – and didn't.

"Honey, there is absolutely nothing you could have done," Rudy said gently. "If you'd stayed with him, you wouldn't be here right now – and neither would Chris. What happened to him – and to you – was horrible, but there's not a thing you could've done to change or prevent it."

"I just feel so guilty," I finally admitted.

"Maybe this has only a little to do with what happened over there," he suggested, "and a lot more to do with Steve." I must've looked at him rather strangely because he pulled his chair closer and laid a hand on my arm. "You're not being disloyal to Chris," he said very softly. (God, how did he _always_ seem to cut right to the heart of the matter?)

And somehow, even though I hadn't really connected _that_ guilt to my dreams, the twinge that ran through me said that Rudy had hit the nail on the head. I'd braved snakes in the jungle, but I couldn't bear this. I couldn't keep myself from crying. "He hasn't been gone that long," I whispered.

"And it's not like you and Steve have run off and gotten married. Honey, you haven't done anything wrong." Rudy sounded exactly like I'd imagine my Dad would've sounded.

"We...didn't even kiss until a few days ago," I told him.

"Right about when the dreams started," Rudy said flatly. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

"Jaime," he began, stuffing his glasses into his shirt pocket, "you've been thrust into a no-win situation. You're mourning the loss of someone you loved, and yet – all of a sudden and through no fault of yours – you've got feelings for someone else."

"I shouldn't let myself feel this way," I argued. It felt so disloyal.

"I don't see that you had much choice. You and Steve were _very_ close, and you never really split up, not in the technical sense of the word. It was circumstances that tore you apart, but the love was still there. For Steve, it never left him. But for you, it went dormant until the time came that another circumstance – also beyond your control – gave you back those feelings and those memories. It would be different if you went out and found someone new so soon after Chris's death -"

"Would it?"

"Yes. This wasn't something you were seeking; it clobbered you over the head." Rudy patted my arm again, and smiled. "I'd say you need to forgive yourself, but you haven't done anything that needs forgiveness. You're living your life – and dealing with everything that's been thrown at you – the best way you know how. And that's exactly what Chris would want you to do."

I nodded and then (finally) I smiled too.

* * * * *

Steve was gone for several more days, and I spent my time redecorating the carriage house, riding the horses while I let what Rudy said _really_ sink in...and catching up on my sleep. I still dreamed about Chris, but the dreams grew warmer, happier – of times we spent together laughing and just enjoying each other. In those dreams, I was able to tell him I loved him...and how very much I missed him. And I started on the long road to letting him go.

* * * * *

November 18, 2009

I'm getting weaker now. Rudy is trying so hard to find a solution, but there is truly nothing he can do. I am so grateful for having been able to live 23 years beyond what fate had originally intended. I was able to marry the man I loved, have three wonderful children and watch them grow into fine, upstanding citizens. I wouldn't trade a moment of it. Rudy is a saint AND a genius, and it is still my mission to ensure that such genius is recognized....somehow.

* * * * *

When I began to let myself _truly_ mourn Chris, I found myself thinking I needed to keep my distance from Steve to do it 'properly'. Big mistake! I sent away that willing ear, water-proof shoulder and comforting set of arms just when I needed them most! But...Steve didn't go far. He knew I was hurting, and I think he knew why. He still called every day, just to check on me (and so did Rudy). But he kept his distance until one day when he just _happened_ to bump into me, up by Lake Casitas, where I was sitting on 'our' log...and crying.

He sat down with a quiet "Hi" and then said nothing more, knowing if I was ready, I'd talk to him. If not, he wasn't about to try and force anything. I appreciated that.

It was a long time before I _could_ find the words – any words. When I did, they came out in a sad, choked little whisper. "I...miss him."

"I know," Steve said simply.

Wordlessly, I picked up a rock and sent it skimming out across the water. It made three or four good skips before sinking to the bottom. Just as silently, Steve found his own rock – and skipped it _five_ times!

"Oh, really?" I said, sniffling a little. My next rock did a neat half-dozen.

"You can do better," he told me.

Okay...that was a challenge. I found the best, flattest rock among the ones by our feet, pulled my right arm back – and sent it sailing smoothly, skip-skip-skip, all the way across the lake, then looked at Steve triumphantly.

He nodded. "Told you," was all he said.

I sat back down and took his hand. Once again, he'd found a way to lighten my mood, at least a little. I didn't want to be without him. I _needed_ him – he gave me balance. "Thank you," I told him. "I'd love to make you some dinner...if you don't have any plans."

"Can I help?"

"_**NO**__!_ But you can watch. Fire codes, you know." Suddenly....I had a _great_ idea!

* * * * *

That day, Steve's cooking lessons began. We had a near disaster when I had him start peeling potatoes and carrots to put beside the roast! I had to wrench the peeler from his hand and show him that the proper way was to peel _away_ from your body.

"I think you could burn soup," I told him, laughing.

"I think I probably have," he admitted.

I gave him lettuce to tear up for the salad, and he started looking around for a knife! (Men are so helpless....or was he only faking?) I showed him how to tear it into bite-sized pieces and then he managed to cut up the tomatoes and cucumbers without any further incident. (The pieces were a little thick and misshapen, but they were cute!)

Eventually, everything was peeled, basted and properly placed in the oven. (A minor miracle!) Steve was so proud of himself. "Next time, maybe I'll let you use the oven," I told him.

"I _can_ grill you, know," Steve pointed out as we dug into the food.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "He-man kill beast, make fire, grill meat!" I said in my best imitation of a caveman. "When rain come, He-man go hungry. Need inside cooking."

"He-man bring soggy, rained-on meat to woman for fixing," he grunted back.

"Oh, woman will fix it, alright. Will fix He-man, too!"

And so I did.

* * * * *

Over the next few weeks, Steve took to cooking like a duck takes to...well...a pile of leaves. It was slow going – a lifetime of bad kitchen habits to overcome, but we sure had fun trying! Oscar (bless him!) figured there was a little more going on between us than cooking lessons and he called on Steve only when he couldn't avoid it. (He'd pretty much stopped calling on me, for which I was so grateful.)

And Oscar was right. Little by little, one recipe at a time, we were growing closer. I learned to lean on Steve when I was feeling down or afraid of all the 'new oldness' in my life, and rejoiced with him when things were going well.

"What would _you_ like to learn to make?" I asked him one day.

Steve shrugged. "How 'bout your Mom's famous chocolate chip/pecan cookies?"

I wrapped my arms around his waist and gazed straight into his eyes, feeling almost like the melted butter in that cookie recipe. "Well....I don't know....that's pretty advanced stuff. Think you can handle it?"

"I know I can," he answered, sealing his determination with a kiss.

"It's Mom's _secret_ recipe," I teased. "I could tell you...but then I'd have to kiss you. Again."

"I can live with that," Steve confirmed.

Eventually, we made the cookies.

* * * * *

That Winter, Jim and Helen began an around-the-world cruise and Steve moved into the ranch house to look after things while they were away. Now if we wanted to see each other, we just had to step out our front doors. (Our front doors had never been so busy!)

I bought a new horse – a white and gray Appaloosa that I named Cotton. She was still wild, but I spent hours each afternoon letting her get to know (and trust) me, while Steve tended to the other horses and pretended he wasn't watching me. When Cotton became a little more docile, I started putting a saddle on her and then returning to our regular routine of talking to her, stroking her (carefully) and hand-feeding her. She tolerated it a little longer each time. It was working. Next, I pulled a crate up beside her and rested my hands on the saddle, with a little more weight each day, just to get her used to it. Steve seemed fascinated.

"What are you doing?" he asked, my first day up on the crate.

I held a hand up so he wouldn't come too close and startle her. "Most horses that start out wild eventually throw their first rider," I explained. "I'm gonna prevent that. I hope. If she gets used to my weight a little at a time, there's a much better chance she'll let me climb all the way on someday."

Steve shook his head and smiled. "I'm glad Mom and Dad bought their horses already broken in."

"You miss half the fun that way," I told him, stroking Cotton's neck. "And the chance to bond."

"I don't think I'd have the patience," he admitted.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," I said, turning back to my horse.

Cotton surprised us both when, after taking so many days to allow weight on her back, she accepted the bridle easily. She seemed to lean into me now when I brushed and petted her. She was _mine_.

Finally, the day came when I led her outside and climbed onto her back. Steve put down whatever he was doing and followed us. I let Cotton pick her own pace, slowly exploring the boundaries of the corral. She was very calm and content, mostly walking but occasionally picking up the pace a little bit, tossing her mane at the new sense of freedom.

Max couldn't have had worse timing. He'd been gnawing on a bone on the front porch of the ranch and suddenly decided to join us and have himself a little romp. He came running toward us, his tail going a mile a minute as he barked his enthusiasm.

It happened so fast! Cotton startled, and before I could attempt to soothe her, she reared up on her hind legs and I was sailing through the air...straight into Steve's arms. I hadn't even seen him coming, but thank God (and Rudy) for bionic speed. He just reached out and caught me as if it were the easiest, most natural thing on Earth. Then he pulled me close to his body and I wrapped my arms around his neck...and looked into his eyes.

"I will _always_ catch you," he said.

* * * * *


	12. Chapter 12

Things began to progress very quickly after that, for Steve and me. Rudy had been right – we weren't _falling in love_...because we already _were_ in love! On Valentines' Day, Steve had a very special treat for me. He put all of those cooking lessons to good use and created a wonderful, romantic candlelit dinner. (Okay, so he grilled the steaks, but he _cooked_ everything else!)

After dinner, we went out and sat on the back porch swing to watch the sun set. When the colors had just reached their peak of brilliance, he took a little box from his pocket. "Jaime," he told me, "I love you with my entire heart. I want to watch the sun set every day for the rest of my life...with you. Will you marry me?"

The fact that the three of you are here tells you what my answer was.

* * * * *

Helen and Jim returned home a couple of weeks later – and were (of course) elated by the news. We felt we'd waited long enough, through too many years of dormancy, and set the wedding date for the coming Fourth of July. Hey, what better way to cap of a wedding and subsequent anniversaries than a night of fireworks? (Pun only partially intended....)

The wedding was perfect – absolutely everything I had hoped for. We started just after dusk, at 'our' spot on Lake Casitas. The chairs for more than 100 guests were arranged in a semi circle around the old tree stump. (Because how could we get married anywhere else?) Within minutes of when the minister pronounced us man and wife, the fireworks began. Steve and sat down down, him in his tux and me in antique lace, on the old log and watched the display with our guests before starting off on our honeymoon.

At first, I had suggested a honeymoon on...the moon. (I was only half-kidding.) It was the one place I thought Oscar couldn't find or contact either of us. Then Steve pointed out that not only could Oscar _find_ someone there if he chose/needed to – it had actually happened. Okey-dokey then, a secluded island served us just fine!

Three months later, we found out that Jenna was on the way.

* * * * *

You know all of those old, corny movies where a father-to-be wants to boil water and tear sheets as soon as he finds out there's a baby on the way. Well, Jenna, that was your father! Getting my every whim catered to and every desire met (usually before I knew I had a whim or desire) was kind of nice...for a little while. It got old real quickly though, and I felt bad that your father was running himself ragged for me.

Most mornings, I had breakfast served to me in bed. I'd have made it myself – really – but he was at it before I woke up and usually it was the smell of eggs and bacon or pancakes or hot cereal that opened my eyes. That was sweet, but the trouble was...he didn't want me to do _anything_. All. Day. Long. (And that makes for a very long day, indeed.) I think he'd have even carried me from room to room, but that was where I drew the line. Wherever I sat down, he propped my feet up – and he even starting massaging them one day until I pointed out the futility in _that_!

Finally, I asked Rudy to have a talk with him. I'd lasted about a week and a half and seven more months of the same would've made me restless – and probably made your father quite cranky, too. So Rudy explained, in as kind a manner as possible, that I could still do whatever I'd done before. Within reason, that is, and nothing bionic. I could even ride Cotton (who was now fully saddle-broken) for another couple of months. After that, my changing center of gravity would make it too dangerous. For now, though, your father agreed to let up on the hovering and just let me breathe...at least a little. He still brought me breakfasts in bed, but we took turns at cooking (and clean up) for the other meals.

We had the option of utilizing some new technology and finding out if I was carrying a boy or a girl – but we opted to let it be a surprise. Somehow, deep inside though, I _knew_ you were a girl! After a few more months I was growing bigger, my belly cumbersome (but beautiful). It was an odd feeling for me, being so used to an athletic, nimble state of being, to adjust to moving and carrying myself in an entirely different way.

Sleep? Forget about it! On the rare occasions that I managed to find a comfortable position, I'd get a leg or a knee straight to my ribcage...or even worse, to my bladder! Your father loved for me to lie nestled next to him, my belly to his back, so he could feel you kicking as he drifted off to sleep. And then he slept like a _rock_. Not a problem, at least not until the night I felt those first pangs of labor pains.

"Steve?" I said, softly at first. He didn't move. "Steve!" I poked him, then elbowed him, but he kept on snoring.

I leaned very close to his ear. "Steve, _the baby's crying!_"

Instantly he sat bolt-upright in bed, and then a realization hit him. "Sweetheart, we don't have a baby - yet - so it can't possibly be crying. You were dreaming. Go back to sleep." He started to lie down again.

"Steve," I said, very sweetly, "there will be a baby crying when I have it right in this bed, if you don't get your butt up and drive me to the hospital."

Now he was awake. "You mean - right now - it's -" He was as jittery as a turkey in mid-November. Somehow, we made it to the hospital in reasonable time and by the next afternoon, our first baby girl was lying in our arms.

"So..." your hilariously funny father said to me, right at that moment, "how soon can we start on Number Two?"

* * * * *

November 22, 2009

Jules came to visit me last night! I have no idea how she found me here. (The work of three Thanksgiving Elves, perhaps?) It's been way too many years since we saw each other last, and we hugged a lot, cried a little and laughed our way through all the old photo albums I've had lying around. I hedged around the question of what's happening to me and told her it was a nervous system disorder. She doesn't know about my bionics and probably has never even heard the word in her life. We had a wonderful visit – and she'll be stopping back after Thanksgiving with pictures of her brand-new grandson!

* * * * *

Speaking of new babies, Jenna, the first time your father held you he had a look on his face like I'd never seen before. Pride (of course), the purest sort of love and something else, too – sheer terror. Beyond holding you and gazing at you, he had absolutely no idea what to _do_ with you! He'd never been a baby-sitter, never even had younger cousins – so this was entirely new territory he was treading.

After being reassured that he wasn't going to drop you and you weren't going to dissolve into little pieces in his arms, he settled back into a chair for a few brief moments of bliss...and then you filled your diaper! Your father tried to hand you off to me, but I was rather pleasantly sedated (still a common after-birth practice back then). Finally, a nurse showed him how to unfasten the tapes...and handed him a package of baby wipes. I was still awake enough to appreciate the look on his face. It was priceless! But...he did it.

As a new father, he was absolutely phenomenal. He insisted on being the one to get up at night when you cried and although he sometimes had to wake me to ask what to do, for the most part he handled things like an old pro. A few times, still awake myself, I crept toward the nursery to find your father cradling you in his arms, singing an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him. So what if he was off-key? It was the most beautiful song I'd ever heard.

We made an agreement early on that none of our children would see us use our bionics (or preferably even hear the word) for as long as we could possibly avoid it. Your father was the first to break that vow, when you first became mobile and began zooming all over the house with both of us in pursuit.

"How do non-bionic parents keep up?" he chuckled.

"_**Steve**__!_" I said sharply, giving him 'the look'.

"What?"

I balanced you on one hip and carried you back into the den, with your little toddler legs still moving as though ready to take off again the moment you hit the floor. I put you in your highchair and set a handful of Cheerios on the tray to keep you occupied...for a few minutes, anyway.

"B – I – O – N – I – C – S," I told him. "That word's a no-no around the baby; you know that."

"Jaime, she's not even a year old yet -"

"I don't care. We agreed she'd never hear that word or see us using...that. May as well make a habit of it now; better safe than sorry, you know."

Your father nodded. "You're right," he agreed. (A very smart move.)

Crash! Cheerios and sippy cup skittered across the hard wood floor, landing pretty much everywhere to your giggling delight.

"Your turn, Daddy," I told him. I had to laugh!

"Dadadada...!" you babbled. It was already your favorite word. Your father picked up the cup and placed it back in your hand. "Dadadadadada!" you said again, seeming quite pleased with yourself as you opened your fist and let the cup fall to the floor.

"No, Bug," he told you. "Look – it's good stuff!" He raised the sippy cup to his lips and pretended to drink. "Mmmm!" he said with a smile and an exaggerated rub of his stomach.

"Mmmm...!" you parroted, holding the cup once more and shaking it at your Daddy.

Tiny droplets of milk cascaded down Daddy's face and onto his sweater. He hadn't even noticed me getting up to answer the doorbell until our visitor stood grinning at him.

"The latest fashion, Pal?" Oscar asked with a wry chuckle. "Hel-lo, Jenna," he crooned, turning instantly into Uncle Oscar as he pulled a bright pink teddy bear from behind his back and bounced it toward the baby. "Did you give your Daddy a shower?"

A few weeks later, it would be _Unca Okka_'s turn...

* * * * *

Your father was in the hospital, and I needed to be with him – and your 'Unca Okka' agreed to watch you for a few hours. "How hard can it be?" he asked me jovially. He had no idea....

I left a complete set of instructions taped to the refrigerator, from what your favorite toys were to when you ate and (supposedly) took your naps. Also one other very specific instruction:

_Get a bib (for yourself), an apron or some old clothes before attempting to feed this child!_ Oscar, for whatever reason, thought himself immune to your mealtime games and set out to feed you in his suit-and-tie. When Russ arrived an hour later, answering Oscar's call for a fresh set of clothes, he found the boss man with strained beef and applesauce in his hair and carrots dotting his tie.

When I got home, I told Oscar it was a sign of affection.

* * * * *

While we were still in the process of planning our wedding, your father and I had many long, difficult discussions about whether or not to have children at all. We both wanted a family desperately, but with the work we did and the lifestyle it forced us to lead, was it fair to our potential babies – or would we be placing them directly into the line of fire?

We gradually came to a realization. While our children might be considered 'at risk' simply by virtue of being our children, we were also two of the best-equipped parents in the universe. We could keep up with an active toddler, I could hear the smallest whimper from all the way down the hall...and if need be, we could be a defense team like no one had ever seen before. (More than once, it unfortunately did come to that, but we're all still in one piece.)

Jenna, you had a mind of your own – times infinity! The trick was for us to make you think that what we wanted you to do was _your_ idea all along. You never really had tantrums, but your _NononononoNO_ could be heard from the top of the roof to the far corner of the basement. And you were a runner! You saw one of us heading your way with your sweater or jacket and you were off in the other direction so quickly that sometimes we wondered if you'd somehow inherited bionic speed. It was impossible to be angry with you, though, since you usually giggled as you ran.

As soon as you could walk, you ran. And as soon as you could speak, your words had _weight_. "Yum" meant it was mealtime, whether we were ready or not. Your father (who was always a sucker for that sort of thing) could usually be persuaded to feed you when you would tug on the refrigerator door, bat your eyelashes at him (now where did you learn that?) and say "Pweeeeze". I remember coming home from the store one day and finding the two of you at the table eating banana splits – an hour before lunchtime! Your father reasoned that ice cream had milk in it, fruit was good for you...so why not?

Your favorite word, though, had to be "Babeeee" because when we found out you were going to become a big sister and my belly mushroomed out to the size of a small country, you loved to press your cheek against it and feel the kicks. I'm still not sure that you really understood what was happening or how much it would rock your world, but for that point in time, you were truly content.

We went on a lot of picnics that Summer, before the three of us became four. You also loved the little petting zoo near the park. Your Daddy would put a coin in the machine so you could cup your hands underneath the chute and watch them overflow with grain you could present to the goat of your choosing. When you got a little older, the goats frightened you, but that Summer, they were your best friends.

But your very 'bestest' friend had to be your 'Unca Okka'. He would drop by whenever he was out our way and had wrangled a couple of free hours from his schedule. You ran to him with outstretched arms, so excited that I'd worry you might bowl him right over, but he'd sweep you up into a giant bear hug and hand you whatever present he'd brought that time (he spoiled you absolutely rotten).

He was the one who offered to keep you when I (finally) went into labor. He gathered up most of your favorite toys and snacks and he and Rudy installed you in a cheery little room just down the hall from mine at the hospital, where he could stay informed on what was happening with me, as well as keep both of his eyes on you.

* * * * *

Your father had spent my first labor firmly ensconced in the hospital waiting room, and for our second baby, he was determined to try 'this new way' – with the father in the delivery room. He tried – he really did – but the first time he saw me having a serious contraction, his face got ghost-white. (And this was only labor – delivery was _hours_ away!) Resolutely, he plunked himself into a chair and reached out to rub my back through the next contraction. Even seated, he looked like he was about to pass out! This was my time to be selfish – I needed Rudy and Doctor Hammond tending to me, not my unconscious husband - so your father was relegated to the waiting room once again.

When it was time to meet his new son, your father entered the room exactly the way he had met his firstborn: with a shy, almost 'aw-shucks' kind of hesitance that melted my heart. Steve's eyes never left the baby's face as I placed him into his Daddy's arms for the very first time.

"He looks like Winston Churchill," your loving father proclaimed. I was about to deck him when he added "All babies look like Winston Churchill."

We had talked a lot about possible names, but the only thing we'd decided (well, _your father_ decided) was that if it was a boy, he would _not_ be named Steve. He said he didn't want to hear me hollering that name for the next 18 years. (Me – holler?) Anyhow, we reached the conclusion we would know the name when we looked into our baby's face.

Trouble was, that didn't exactly happen. I still wanted to call him Steve. We were admiring our new son and contemplating his nameless future when there was a knock at the door. Oscar stood in the doorway, holding Jenna by the hand.

"Someone wants to meet her new brother," he announced. He stared at the baby himself for a long, happy minute or two, congratulated us and said he'd pay a proper visit later, that it was family time now.

Steve handed the baby back to me and pulled his daughter into his embrace. "Hey, Bug," he told her, "you're a big sister now. Congratulations!" He kissed the top of her head and beamed.

"Babeee?" Jenna whispered. She was awestruck. She reached over and put her hand on my belly, not quite understanding yet. "Tummy?"

"Baby," your father repeated. He took her hand and guided it toward the baby, showing her how to extend one finger toward the tiny fist. Jenna squealed as the baby's fingers tightened around her own.

She dissolved into giggles as she leaned in closer. "Tummy...baby..." she babbled, only partially getting it but thrilled all the same. "A tummy baby," Jenna crooned, "a-tum -"

Suddenly, I sat up a little straighter. Your father could see the light bulb moment as it happened. "What?" he asked.

"Jenna just gave us the perfect name!" I told him.

'Daddy' frowned. "We will _not_ be naming our child 'Tummy'," he insisted.

"No – Adam! Look at him; it's perfect! Adam Steven Austin!"

"A-tum!" Jenna parroted.

"It does sort of suit him," 'Daddy' agreed. "Well, Mr. Adam Steven Austin," he said in a ceremonious voice, "here are your father's first words of wisdom for you. Life is always much smoother when the women get their way!"

* * * * *


	13. Chapter 13

When you are three years old, 6am is a perfectly reasonable time to start the day. (And your parents' day...and your baby brother's day...) When Adam was a baby and Jenna had just turned three, your father and I were awakened nearly every morning by the sound of Jenna rattling Adam's crib rails and whispering "Adam...get _up_!" Your father or I would roll out of bed, pad down the hall and coax Jenna into 'helping' get Adam's bottle ready.

Early mornings were really Jenna-and-Daddy time. The two of you loved to make pancakes or scrambled eggs and toast and bring them to me while I was still wiping the sleep from my eyes. (By now, I was the one getting up in the night with Adam.) Usually, you both remembered to clean up the splotches and spills from Jenna's over-enthusiastic 'helping' afterward. And Adam, you usually waited patiently in your crib, babbling happily to yourself, until your bottle was ready. You were my quietest, most contented baby.

You _adored_ your big sister! Jenna was positively your favorite form of entertainment. She'd wave your toys in front of you to make you laugh and she'd sing and dance for you for as long as you could keep your eyes open. You loved your Daddy and me too, of course, but Big Sis came first in your book. In fact, it was Jenna who showed you how to crawl, made you want to try so you could keep up with her, at least a little bit. And after you started pulling yourself up using the furniture for support, it was Jenna who nearly gave me a coronary when she rounded the corner into the kitchen, holding you by both hands as you slowly toddled toward me. Yes, your big sister helped teach you to walk!

A big part of your closeness probably stemmed from the time you were kidnapped together when Adam was still a very small baby. I was taken, too – it was a horrible, frightening time, with the two of you used as leverage to ensure my compliance. I knew your father and Oscar would come for us if I could only buy us all enough time...but it was heartbreaking to have you put in that situation. We were very lucky - Adam, you were so young that you were oblivious to it all and Jenna, you took it in a fairly matter-of-fact manner. I am so grateful that neither of you ever saw the gun.

Toward the end, though, it did get ugly. Jenna, you were there when I got cut rather badly on my arm. You didn't see the knife or the actual cutting...but you saw the blood. You also saw that your brother was no longer in the van with us – and that was something you couldn't bear. And neither could I. I grabbed you around your waist, told you to hold on to me tightly with both hands – then kicked out the back door of the van and jumped. You were (thankfully) unharmed, but I'd lost a lot of blood and both of my legs had been slashed (although I made sure you wouldn't see _that_ at all). We made it to a phone booth and called for help, but I knew I was going to black out – and you were with me! The best I could do was lead you into an alley, hunker down with you and tell you not to move until your Daddy or Oscar came for us. You were so brave! And when I woke up, it turned out you'd given them one of the clues needed to crack the case and find your brother. By the end of the night, we were all safely home again – and together. You went to sleep clutching your favorite doll and never had a single nightmare. I still marvel at your resilience.

Adam, once you were on your feet and truly walking, you and Jenna were an unbeatable team. You had a sort of Us-Against-Them mentality, but most of it (I think) came from your sister. You idolized her, and whatever Jenna said was golden in your book. And Jenna, aside from using your brother to accomplish a lot of your mischief, you were always so good to him. If there was only one cookie left (and you couldn't send him to swipe one more from the kitchen), you'd break it in half and give Adam the bigger piece.

You loved to sit together on the sofa with Adam's picture books. Jenna would turn the pages, solemnly 'splaining' each picture to Adam, and Adam's chubby little fists would slap each page with sheer delight. My favorite memory of the two of you at that age, though, would have to be the tea parties. They were an afternoon ritual, just after nap time, and you sat together at that tiny little table with that teddy bear tea set, drinking milk or juice and eating your snack – and taking it ever-so-seriously. Pictures could never do justice to moments like those, but fortunately I still have vivid memories to allow each precious second to replay itself in my head, whenever I need a smile.

You were finally _both_ attending classes together (with me, since you were home schooled) and were seven years old and almost-four when we found out another baby was on the way. We'd always wanted a large family, but (as all three of you know), at the time it was _not_ good news.

- - - - -

First of all, a personal note to Hannah. You already know about what happened while I was pregnant with you. I hope that you've never – for a single second – thought that it meant you were an unpleasant surprise or in any way unwelcome. Your father and I wanted you with every fiber of our souls, even before we knew you were on the way. (And so did your brother and sister!) We had been informed by far too many experts that either you or I (or both) could not possibly survive. And...we almost didn't.

I told your father early on, when I started feeling light-headed, weaker and slightly nauseous, that I thought I was pregnant. He informed me that the experts had deemed it impossible and besides, we were just getting too old. (He could be old at 43 if he wanted to, but since when was 40 old?) Be that as it may, I was sure the experts were wrong; I knew my own body, dammit!

A few days later, Rudy and then Doctor Hammond both confirmed it. Your father panicked when he heard the news. The danger of my body rejecting another baby – and possibly my bionics while it was at it – was too great. There had also been a serious problem with my blood pressure when I had Adam, and the return of the light-headed feeling didn't bode well for a new pregnancy. Reluctantly, both doctors advised that we terminate immediately. They said my very _life_ was at risk.

Except...we couldn't do it. Your father was beside himself, and ran himself ragged taking care of me – and two young children – because this time, I was on total bed rest. Rudy had wanted me in the hospital (and so did your very nervous father) but I knew the damage that would do to my spirits and my disposition - and I couldn't bear to spend that much time away from my children!

So your father bought a little nurse's kit for Jenna and a doctor kit for Adam and let them 'help' take care of me. Jenna brought juice, soup and anything spill-able and Adam would follow behind, proudly bearing fruit and more solid food items. Between two kids and their anxious Daddy, I was never alone (except for when I had to rest) – and I was certainly never bored.

We still had our lessons every day, at least as much as I could manage. Jenna and Adam were both testing way ahead of expected levels, so no harm was done. Jenna very patiently held Adam's hand in her own and helped him slowly form the letters A-D-A-M on his paper with the big, chubby pencil. As an added surprise, she later showed him how to make the letters M-O-M-M-Y. Together, they made cards and drew pictures for me that your father used to decorate every wall in the bedroom.

Then, as I started getting bigger – and more restless and uncomfortable (and cranky) – I'd give assignments and Jenna and Adam would head into the den to work on them under Daddy's watchful eyes while I tried to take a nap. Sleep (and even finding a comfortable position) grew harder with each of my pregnancies – and this time, it was nearly impossible. I could see that the doctors were getting worried.

"Your blood pressure is still too high," Rudy fretted, nearly every day when he came to see me. One day during my seventh month, though...he didn't say it. He didn't say much of anything, but merely backed out of the room with his bedside-manner smile intact and scurried off to find your father. Within the hour, I was in the hospital. There was no discussion this time, no chance to argue or even disagree. They told me I was dangerously close to a stroke.

"We need to induce labor," Doctor Hammond told me.

"No." (What other answer could I give? It was just _too early!_) I closed my eyes, trying not to let them see the tears.

Rudy pulled your father into the hallway. He didn't realize that, even with my bionics turned down for the latter part of my pregnancy, I could still hear them. "We're going to lose both of them," Rudy said.

"Tell me all of it, Rudy," I heard your father ask.

I knew I shouldn't be listening, but every one of my senses was heightened as I laid there and let Doctor Hammond examine me. "It's bad, Steve," Rudy went on. "At this point, I can't be sure of saving either one of them, but delivery is the best option. The baby will be small, but there _is_ a chance of survival."

"And...Jaime?"

"We'll do everything we can to save her. To save both of them, if possible, but Jaime's already suffered two brain bleeds in her life – and she's more than a decade older now. She could stroke out at any moment. I'm sorry, but her chances...are not good."

Well, that was a wonderful thing to lie there and listen to! My own fault for eavesdropping, but I _needed_ to know! I decided then and there that if I was dying, I'd hang on as long as possible, to give the baby inside me as much time as fate would allow it to develop and grow stronger. An extra day or two before birth might make all the difference. Knowing I was busting myself for listening, I called your father and Rudy back into the room.

Your father came straight up to the bed, brushed the hair from my eyes and held my hand. "What is it, Sweetheart?" he asked.

"Don't let them take the baby...."

- - - - -

Telling your father not to let them take the baby was pretty much my last conscious thought before everything went haywire. I'm told I went into a full seizure and while they were prepping to do a Cesarean, the baby apparently had other ideas. Contractions began almost immediately. At one point, I was told later, your father was asked to make a choice...but things progressed so rapidly that the decision became moot. It didn't appear that either the baby or I would survive.

Obviously, we both made it...but for me it was by the skin of my teeth. Hannah surprised everyone. Yes, she was early and so tiny (barely three pounds) but her heart and lungs were strong. Almost as soon as they got her out and cleaned up, it was clear that she was going to be alright. She was so healthy and full of spunk that by the time I woke up (three days later), she was no longer in an incubator, needing only a warm light as a precaution.

I have to give your father credit. He saw to it that Jenna and Adam continued their studies, kept them well-fed and made sure they were properly looked after when he made his twice-daily trips to the hospital to visit Hannah and me. It took awhile to regain my strength and my bearings and when I was finally ready to go home, Hannah (at just over five pounds by then) was ready, too.

She was still so _tiny_ - the only one of our babies who was able to wear 'Newborn' sized clothes for more than a few days! Jenna and Adam were mesmerized...and your father and I were, too. She slept only in short spurts at first, and when she was awake, the entire household _knew_ it. Healthiest set of lungs I've _ever_ heard on an infant! And since we'd never expected to get to this point – all five of us whole and healthy in the home together – every cry was music to our ears. For a little while, anyway...

"Mommy, she's _too loud!_" Jenna insisted, more than once. "Make her stop!" (Eight year olds know nothing about colic or that infants sometimes just _cry_.) Adam simply covered his ears and winced.

So I walked the hallway, back and forth, with Hannah in my arms – jiggling her gently as we went. It didn't help. Lullabies didn't help. Jenna's attempts at a raucous sort of serenade to get Hannah's attention raised the decibel level a few more degrees...but didn't help either. (Especially not when Adam joined his sister with an accompaniment on his little toy drum!) Our house had never heard such a cacophony...and we'd never been happier.

Hannah, you were our miracle child – the one who was 'impossible' to conceive and then not expected to live. And you've been happily surprising every one of us, ever since.

- - - - -

November 25, 2009

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Yes, I'll be spending it here in Rudy's medical complex...but I have so many things to be grateful for! Not material things, either, although I've been blessed with enough of those. My heart is full to overflowing because of all the wonderful moments I've shared with family and friends, some of which I've been able to relate to you on these pages.

While these pages also reflect quite a bit of sorrow, anxiety and trouble throughout many years, each incident has served as a challenge to be overcome that has left us stronger and more cohesive for the effort.

Some of my favorite memories are of our family Thanksgivings together. All three of you kids (okay, I know you aren't kids anymore, but bear with me) wanted drumsticks, but even Rudy couldn't invent a three-legged turkey. We tried to make it fair, with the girls getting the drumsticks one year, the two youngest the next, etc...until we stumbled on the solution. An extra package of turkey drumsticks, roasted with the big bird, ensured that everyone – even your father – got the piece of their choice.

It seemed that our Thanksgiving table grew larger every year. Our family grew from just Steve and I to the five of us...but there were many, many more chairs than that! Rudy, Oscar, your grandparents, and the occasional guest all graced our holiday tables and were all welcome additions. Who would've guessed that Rudy could whip up the ultimate sweet potato pie? I'm still trying to figure out where that ability came from. (Maybe the man truly can do anything!)

I am so looking forward to seeing the whole family tomorrow! Trying very hard not to think about the fact that it's likely to be the last time we'll all be together. You know I've told Rudy I don't want you here at the end – for your own good, so your last memories of the four of us will be happy, turkey-filled thoughts.

I wish with all my heart that we could have many, many more Thanksgivings together, but I am so grateful that I've been able to see all three of you blossom into such loving, happy and productive adults. You make me proud. I want you to know and believe that, so I'm going to say it again.

_You make me proud!_

I don't want there to be tears tomorrow. It's a time of celebration! We'll all be together and I intend to enjoy each and every moment to its very fullest. Grandchildren (and their parents) will be fully hugged, kissed and loved until their hearts are every bit as joyful as mine!

- - - - -


	14. Chapter 14

November 26, 2009

What a wonderful Thanksgiving – and an all-around _perfect_ day! Steven James (Jenna's new baby boy) is utterly charming and I am so happy I got the chance to hold him and get to know him. Helen and Ann (Adam's girls) are at such a lovely age now, out of the terrible twos and still fascinated by everyone and everything around them. Adam, I still don't know how you and Sara keep up with such a lively set of twins (identical, no less!) without the benefit of bionics! They are such a joy to watch as they take in every detail with their gleeful enthusiasm.

It was especially a blessing for me to see the three of you all together again. I know you visit each other every chance you get – and you've always been great about visiting your boring old mother, but to have all of you here, all at once....nirvana! I still haven't stopped smiling.

Hannah, I couldn't even begin to tell you how proud I am that your very first effort at a novel has found a publisher! How very exciting! A futuristic Intelligence agency, set both here and in outer space - now where does one come up with an idea like that....? I hope you will continue with your studies, even after you become the famous author that I know is waiting just inside of you. Somehow, I know that you will. You have always been such a voracious learner. At your young age, you only have one more year of college to go! Our noisiest baby has become the quiet scholar of the family. Fancy that.

Adam, you are doing so well for yourself and your family! Working as a youth counselor while working toward certification in Psychiatry – what mother's heart wouldn't swell with pride? You and Sara are raising two strong, happy little girls, so you have so much to be proud of! Your father used to say that they had my stubbornness...but that's a sign of intelligence, isn't it? I also hope that you will always treat Sara with the love and respect that she deserves, the way your father treated me. Once I got him over his pig-headed chauvinism, he never failed to ask my opinion and hold it as equal to his own. He never once raised a hand toward me in anger – and I know that sort of thing just isn't in you, either. You're a wonderful husband and father – and it shows in the smiles on your family's faces.

Jenna, I know that you are going to _love_ being a mother! You and Robert have given each other the ultimate gift. I'm so glad that Robert is behind your decision to hold off on teaching for awhile, so you can be home with Stevie. Maybe you'll even decide to go the same route we did and home school him, but that choice is completely up to you. In any case, you were always the 'little mother' to your brother and sister – and I know Stevie couldn't hope for a more loving, resourceful parent. Robert is wonderful with him, too. I take great joy in seeing the way your relationship has blossomed. I can picture the two of you with a brood larger than the one you grew up in....someday.

Rudy tells me that while Robert, Sara and my grandchildren have headed for home, the three of you are stubbornly choosing to stay here. I do wish you'd reconsider. As much of a comfort as it would be to have you with me in these last days, there would be too many tears and a final memory for the three of you that is neither glowing nor happy. Today was such a beautiful day, and that's truly what I'd hope you will hold in your hearts in the days to come. I know that I will.

However, I also know that you are your parents' children. You aren't going anywhere...are you? Please at least spend the next few days together, exploring the beautiful scenery – the mountains, the clear blue lakes, the lush fields. Rudy will find you when it's time. The three of you will be such a source of strength and comfort for each other in the coming days. Don't be afraid to lean on each other; you need that. Perhaps you will read through these pages together and find smiles to replace the tears. There are already too many tears in the world. When you remember your father and me, I hope it will always be with a smile.

Okay – enough of that! I have almost failed to mention the wonderful spread we were treated to today! Turkey, glazed ham, more pie than Jack Horner could stick his thumbs in – the works! I was pleasantly surprised when little Helen nagged Annie to eat her veggies. A little bit of Auntie Jenna creeping into her niece there, huh?

This Thanksgiving, I feel truly blessed.

* * * * *

November 27, 2009

Looking at all the old photo albums with you yesterday brought back some of the sweetest memories! It wasn't always easy for your father and I to eke out a week or more of guaranteed free time (especially for both of us at once!) but we managed at least once a year – and we had some true dream vacations.

I think my favorite was the year Hannah had just turned two, when we went to Paradise Island. I kept sitting her down beside me with her little pail and shovel, trying to interest her in digging the sand. She was far more interested in what Big Brother and Big Sis were doing! I kept having to get up and physically prevent her from following Jenna and Adam straight into the ocean! She would dig those tiny toes so firmly into that white crystal sand, refusing to budge – and not realizing that sand didn't exactly give her a solid grip beneath her feet.

Jenna took Adam (wearing his little wading ring) out to the very edge of the surf – under your father's watchful eye, of course. She dared her little brother to stick in 'just one toe, Adam'...but the thought didn't quite thrill him. Then a wave reached all the way to the shore, soaking the both of you (and your father) – and Adam's fear of the ocean was conquered once and for all. I'm not sure if Hannah's laughter was at the wave itself or the way the three of you looked when you turned around. Sodden, surprised and yet completely ecstatic. Then all five of us built the biggest sand castle on the beach – together, as a family.

A couple of times every year, we used to finagle a long weekend away and would spend those up at my parents' old cabin. Probably a good thing we didn't stay more than two or three nights, because a cabin with five people in it (three of them children) can get very cozy, very fast. Your father spent an afternoon repairing and reinforcing the old tree house that he and I had built together when we were kids – and the three of you just loved it. Well, for awhile, Jenna and Adam loved it while Hannah sat dejectedly on the ground, wishing she was big enough to join the fun. But the very minute your father and I gave our permission, she was never excluded again.

Jenna and Adam, you both went out of your way to include your little sister in everything you possibly could – always. Hannah, you were probably the most cherished little girl in the history of little sisters! They read to you, danced with you, taught you to walk and to run (of course) and always slowed down just enough so that you could keep up. Even though they were really too old at the time (especially Jenna), they willingly held traditional Austin Children's tea parties with you, any time you felt the urge.

Every Winter, we made sure to spend some family time in DC, so the three of you could build snowmen and experience at least some of your Christmases as white ones. The three of you would each roll one section of the great snow creature, according to your size. Jenna rolled the bottom piece, Adam rolled the middle one and Hannah created the head. Then your father would lift you up (if you weren't quite tall enough) so you could each place some of the coal or the carrot on its face. The honor of placing the hat on the top as the finishing touch went (naturally) to Hannah.

Do you remember when the three of you decided you could be the next Jackson Five? _The Austin Family Trio!_ Jenna played on a little keyboard, Adam pounded the blazes out of his drum and Hannah sang. If you each were performing your own individual song, all at the same time, what did it matter? You had a blast. It was music (in its own special way), it was creative and it was _fun_.

Now that you've become adults and are starting your own families, I hope that you will never lose that spontaneous sense of fun. Don't be afraid to climb trees with your kids! Ride the roller coasters! Swim in the ocean and build sand castles on the shore! You're never too old to cut lose and just _go for it!_

* * * * *

We had some truly wonderful times on vacations – and just being at home together as a family. There were, however, plenty of times that were....not quite so wonderful. One that springs immediately to mind is the summer when Jenna 'blossomed' into adolescence. (Sorry, Jenna!)

It was only a few months after her twelfth birthday. Your father and I thought we had at least another year before the true strength of teenage angst began to storm through the household, but perhaps it had something to do with a particular incident that may have caused our oldest child to grow up a little too quickly. Adam was spending the afternoon playing at a friend's house and Jenna had offered to try and persuade Hannah that she wasn't too old to take a nap. When I looked into Hannah's room, both girls were completely involved in the story Jenna was reading aloud, so I took the opportunity to catch up on a little housework. Quickly. _Bionically._

Suddenly, I heard a gasp. I turned around and Jenna was standing in the hallway, wide-eyed and gape-jawed. How much had she seen? In the last sixty seconds, I had dusted the entire living room, swept off the hearth and lifted the sofa to retrieve Hannah's lost toys. Then I realized it didn't matter exactly what she had seen; she'd seen enough. I wrapped my arms around her and led her over to the sofa. It was time to be honest with my eldest daughter – in an age-appropriate way, of course. Steve was away on an assignment...so I would have to tackle it alone.

I started by telling her about my accident, that the injuries were so serious that the only way to save me was with a new, highly experimental and _very_ secretive technology. I told her this was not something she could share with her brother and sister (or with anyone else other than her grandparents) but that I would try to answer any questions she might have. And believe me, she had plenty. I leveled with her the best I could, in terms she could understand. Then she said something that almost made _my_ jaw hit the floor.

"Is Daddy like that, too?"

I asked her what she meant, and it turned out that several weeks earlier, she had seen your father up on the roof, hammering nails quite a bit faster than a human should be able to manage. Somehow, with what I'd told her, she made the connection. With an apology in my head to your father, I confirmed what Jenna suspected, relating the story of his accident and surgery, too.

Jenna was quiet for a very long time, just taking it all in. She asked if I would show her more, and I told her that maybe we could arrange that sometime soon, if we could be very, _very_ sure she would keep it to herself. I let her know she could come to her father or me anytime a question about this came up in her mind, that I would always tell her the truth. If it was something she shouldn't (or couldn't) know, then I'd tell her that...but I would _not_ lie to her. Jenna nodded silently, then gave me a hug and headed for her room for some quiet alone time.

It seemed that within weeks, hormones, teenage angst (or whatever you prefer to call it) hit her with a vengeance. Adam and Hannah were as bewildered as your father and I were as to what had happened to cheerful, bouncy Jenna. Maybe...aliens had kidnapped her and left a sullen, non-communicative pre-teen in her place...? Adam's theory at the time was that his sister had turned into a pod person. Hannah started cutting a wide path around her beloved older sister – when she was able to catch a glimpse of her, that is. Jenna would come home from school and disappear into her room, slamming her door. We barely saw her at all for the next 18 months or so until one day, just as suddenly as the pod-Jenna had appeared, the Jenna we knew and loved returned...for good.

Adam found out The Secret when he was 11. He accepted it in a simple, straightforward manner. Just another fact of life that he absorbed and dealt with. Hannah was in the dark until she was almost 14, and the very thought of the technology involved fascinated her. She delved into researching it further, trying to gather all the information available, even begging Rudy for details – some of which he was happy to provide to her. Three kids...three completely different reactions. Interesting.

Your father's and my work for your 'Uncle Oscar' seemed like it was always just a 'given'. It was what we did. None of you really questioned it until you were much older. Maybe you knew enough to put the pieces together for yourselves or maybe you instinctively figured out there wasn't a great deal we could share with you about it. You all knew early on that when Oscar showed up in a sweater or button-down shirt, he was _yours_. He was Uncle Oscar. When he came in the big car, wearing his suit-and-tie (which was a persona as well as an outfit), it meant either Daddy or I was going to be gone for awhile.

Maybe that's why we had more than our share of squabbles, drama and outright angst. But no matter what, all of us knew that in times of trouble and crisis we were there for each other. We were, in every sense of the word, a _family._

* * * * *


	15. Chapter 15

November 28, 2009

I am growing weaker much more quickly now. I have to admit I am grateful that the three of you have stuck around – but also very happy that you aren't hanging around this complex on some sort of morbid death watch. The scenery is so beautiful here! Hopefully it can bring you a bit of peace as you wait for Rudy's staff to give you 'the word'.

I want to reassure you again that I am not suffering. Rudy has made certain of that. I am also not afraid. Your father, your grandparents, Oscar and even Puzzles are waiting for me with warm, open arms. And I know I will see the three of you reunited with all of us one day...but hopefully not for a very long time.

Anyway, yesterday I was writing about how families draw together during times of trouble and crisis. We've sure had our share of that, haven't we?

One of the worst days for our family – and indeed, for the entire country – was September 11, 2001. I had just finished making bacon and eggs and was trying to persuade Adam that breakfast entailed more than a piece of toast and a gulp of juice when I heard Hannah's stricken voice calling from the den.

"Mom? _Mom!!!_" She sounded like she was choking. We found her staring at the television, where smoke was billowing from the top of the World Trade Center. CNN's caption on the bottom of the screen was shocking and left a huge pit in my stomach.

_Second plane crashes into the World Trade Center_.

"Go get your father," I told Adam, and as he summoned Steve from the shower, I sat down with my arm around my ten-year-old daughter and began to process the awful truth. Two planes. This was deliberate.

Steve came flying down the hall with Adam right behind him and the kids and I sat together on the sofa in a tight group, just....staring. Your father was already on the phone, trying to gather more information.

"It can't be real," Adam speculated. "Maybe they're making a disaster movie." He just kept saying that. "It isn't real...." Hannah was crying. There were tears in my eyes, too. So many lost, innocent souls...!

Your father came away from his call reassured – at least for the moment. He hadn't been able to reach Oscar, which was odd because since Oscar's very reluctant retirement the year before (at age 70), he'd become much easier to track down. But then your father managed to find Russ, who told him Oscar had been called in to consult at a security meeting at the Pentagon.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Oscar was an expert on terrorists and their motivations and goals. We'd be in good hands if he was helping steer Security forces in the right direction. The men in the White House Security Room were in direct contact with the consultants at the Pentagon.

The first indication that even more had gone terribly wrong was a brief announcement during the awful coverage of the Trade Center tragedy. There had been reports of a fire at the Pentagon. Rumors seemed to be flying everywhere, and we were glued to the screen, not wanting to believe anything until it was officially confirmed.

Less than 15 minutes later, the announcement came. CNN had confirmed a fire at the Pentagon. Your father was back on the phone but unable to get through to Washington. Hannah had seen enough and I led her back to her room where we sat and talked quietly. She had dissolved into tears in my arms and I was trying to console her when my ear picked up the next ominous announcement from the TV in the den. The South Tower had collapsed. Things had gone from horrific to totally unthinkable. Thankfully, Hannah was unable to hear this. She was already overloaded. The entire country was in a state of shock and overload.

When Hannah had sobbed herself out, she curled up in a tiny ball in her bed and began drifting off into a restless sort of sleep. I covered her with her blanket and headed back to the den. Your father was still unable to get through to Washington by phone. Like the rest of the country, we could only stare at the television as each new report was worse than the last.

It was more than 48 hours before we were able to reach Russ. That was when we found out that Oscar had never made it into the Command Center. He was less than a block from the parking area when the plane hit. Traffic wasn't moving at all, and when it became obvious what had happened, he abandoned his car and rushed to the scene to offer whatever help he could. He had already escorted several Pentagon staffers to safety and gone back inside when part of the west side of the Pentagon collapsed. The fact that he died a hero was of no consolation. Far too many heroes lost their lives that day. Even one was too many...and thousands of souls (who were only trying to live their lives and do their jobs) were gone.

Oscar was buried with full military honors and at the end of the service, five Austins stepped forward to place roses on the lowering casket and say their final goodbyes. I take comfort now in knowing that, just as he did in life, Oscar is waiting again to help guide me and smooth my way...

- - - - -

The entire nation was subdued (but not broken) after 9/11. I guess the same could be said for our family. For us (like so many others) it was personal. When Oscar died, we lost one of our own. Jenna had returned home from college and, after a great deal of thought, announced she would be taking the rest of the semester off. She was simply too shaken to continue. She assured us that she would return to her studies at the start of the new semester...and she did, taking extra courses each term so she'd still be able to graduate with her friends.

Hannah became even more introspective than usual, to the point where we decided to send her to a counselor, just to be on the safe side. After all, she was about to enter preadolescence and the lightning bolt of grief and loss that hit our family had struck her especially hard. We all attended several sessions, as a sort of re-bonding process and then Hannah continued on her own for several more months. The counselor finally told us that although she was quiet and more content on her own than in large groups, she was entirely within the norm – and in fact was extremely well-adjusted. Her journals and her creative writing were her lifelines and as long as she was willing to reach out to her family and at least a few close friends, we had nothing to worry about.

It was Adam's trouble that we didn't see coming. We had made the choice when homeschooling our children that they would each attend 'normal' high school when the time came. When it was Adam's turn, he'd seemed to flourish there. He excelled in every sport he tried out for and had even begun to date. Whether it was the after-effects on him from 9/11, adolescent hormones or teenage rebellion (or maybe a combination of all three), we still don't know, but in the second semester of his sophomore year, we got the call that every parent dreads. It was after midnight and we were already angry and more than a little worried. This wasn't the first time Adam had missed his curfew, but mothers' instinct was already turning somersaults in my gut when the phone rang. It was the police. Adam had been one of half a dozen teens found drinking in a car parked at a bonfire. Yes, _in a car_.

His protest that they hadn't driven anywhere after drinking fell on deaf ears. While it's true that Steve or I could have pulled a few well-placed strings and had Adam's citation dropped...we chose not to. This was a bed he'd made for himself, and we intended to see that he spent some time lying in it. He'd already made his appointment to take his first driver's test, but we immediately revoked our permission and forced him to wait another year to learn to drive. He paid every penny of the fine himself and when he was thrown off of the football team because of the gross infraction of the rules, we consoled him but did not intervene. It was one of the best decisions your father and I ever made. Adam's grades went back up to where they belonged and there were no further calls from the school...or the police.

Your father and I always did the best we could, but clearly Ozzie and Harriet (or even Mike and Carol Brady), we were not. The three of you fought tooth-and-nail at times, and sometimes went days (or longer) without speaking to each other. And yet, when one of you was in trouble, you knew you always had two of the staunchest allies in the world. When Jenna needed help convincing your father and I that a semester off was what she needed most, her brother and sister peacefully (but forcefully) joined the discussion. When Adam got into his trouble, his sisters were unable to convince us to negate his punishment, but they did show us that they still loved their brother, no matter what. And so did we. When Hannah was bullied on the playground, one word and a raised eyebrow from her older brother sent those bullies running...for good. The best times, the joyful, happy times, shone even brighter because you'd also seen each other through the worst.

One of the very worst was yet to come...when we first learned that your father was sick....

- - - - -

It started out so simply. Steve noticed a slight weakness in his limbs – the left arm as well as the bionic limbs. We'd cut back quite a bit on our old habits of swimming halfway up the coast and back or running up and down a mountain just for fun, so we assumed he was just a little out of shape. But it seemed that the more he and I tried to exercise together, to get those old bionic circuits flowing smoothly again, the worse he felt. Finally, we knew it was time to call Rudy.

- - - - -

The initial verdict from Rudy was fairly encouraging. Steve had put off his '10,000 mile tune-up' a little longer than the Doc would've liked, and he was sure with some adjustments and extra rest that everything would be okay.

Except...it wasn't. Steve came home feeling fairly refreshed but soon began suffering what seemed to be mini-seizures in his limbs. Within a few days, he was too weak to get out of bed. Skipping the lab this time, Rudy put him straight into the hospital and ran every test in the book. This time, the news was grim.

The nuclear power packs, which had sustained him through all these years, were now killing him. It wasn't slow radiation poisoning (as Rudy had theorized at first), but rather the destruction of his central nervous system by the very means that had always kept him going. Rudy explained that as your father and I aged (and used the full extent of our bionics far less often), the power packs continued as they always had, supplying the same amount of strength. The intensity of that unused energy was proving itself to be far more destructive than anyone could have realized.

There were tumors, too, but they were in the earliest stages and would be of little consequence; his entire nervous system was shot. There was nothing the doctors could do other than make sure he was comfortable.

I had no choice but to gather the family together and give you the news. You were only 16, 21 and 24...far too young to lose a parent. It didn't seem fair. My heart broke a little more with every word, but you deserved to _know_. You took it in quietly, then each reacted in your own, personal way. Adam punched a dent in the living room wall. Jenna sobbed silently into a pillow. And Hannah...Hannah turned ghostly pale, looking like she was about to be sick as she thoroughly processed everything I'd said.

She voiced the next question for all three of you. "What's happening to Dad....will it happen to you, too?"

For that, I had no good answer. No answer at all, really. Rudy was already working on replacement power packs for me – non-nuclear, set at a much lower strength level – but it was too soon to tell if the damage might have already been done. All we could do in that regard was wait. And at that moment, rather than focus on what _might_ happen to me...your father needed us.

We dragged out all the old photo albums and scrapbooks and spent every minute we could with him, reminiscing and just being together. I'll never forget the day the three of you brought your old toy instruments to the hospital for an impromptu Austin Family Trio reunion concert. Your father loved every minute of it, and so did I. Even Rudy cracked a smile. It was the best possible medicine.

Unfortunately, even the best medicine and the best medical care available work for only so long...

How does one write about the loss of the love of their life? The one person who has always been there, from the earliest, fondest of memories, through all the bad stuff and into the sunshine of deep, lasting love? It's a soul-crusher like no other, the knowledge that your heart has _not_ been broken – half of it has been cruelly ripped away. I tried to keep myself at least somewhat intact, for the three of you, but in truth you held me up in the awful days after we lost your father.

You gave me the space I needed to grieve, but I knew beyond any doubt that you were _there_...that I wasn't alone. In one awful moment, I'd lost my best friend, my husband and the father of my children...but you were there, and that gave me a reason to keep going. You kept the house full of my favorite fresh flowers – in every room, even the bathroom. When I'd wake from the frequent naps that were an escape in the earliest days, there was always a tray with my favorite tidbits of food beside the bed, tempting me to eat. I'm not sure, but I think you even kept a waking vigil (in shifts) because whenever I'd meander out into the den, there was always someone waiting with a hug...no matter what the time of day. I should've been consoling you, but I think that – somehow – we all managed to begin to console each other.

After all, that's what _families_ do.

- - - - -

December 5, 2009

I may not be able to write for much longer, and there are a few things I want to make sure get said, a few loose ends to tie up, so if this entry is a little disjointed, I hope you will bear with me.

There are so many things that I am thankful for! _My life_, which was more than twice as long as the fates originally intended. (Or was this what was intended for me, all along?) For that, I am grateful to Oscar for choosing me for this Project – when I was about the furthest thing from an obvious choice – and Rudy and his world-class team for saving me and taking such wonderful care of me ever since.

Rudy....I wish there was something I could say or do to wipe away the look of guilt that I see in his eyes. He has _nothing_ to feel guilty about! Today, I finished making the necessary arrangements to ensure that Rudy's genius is recognized. He deserves that, and it's something he would never seek for himself.

In the three years since we lost Steve, Rudy has worked incredibly hard. He came up with those new, lower energy power packs for me, hoping to allow me to avoid the same fate. Six months ago, when my hand first developed a tremor, we all knew what it meant, but Rudy kept tirelessly pressing on, consulting with the best neurologists from all over the globe, trying right up until this last hospital admission to find some sort of a cure.

He has _not_ failed – not by a long shot! While my time may be just about gone, Rudy's continued research has allowed him to begin fashioning a brand-new generation of bionic limbs. They are cost-effective, safe...and they _work_! Very soon, the world will know what I've known for over three decades: this man is the genuine article...a _Hero._

And Oscar...he took a very confused and angry former tennis pro and turned me into someone who could fend for herself in the worst possible situations – and do it with confidence. He not only taught me to survive...he helped me to _thrive_. And he showed me that a single person who refuses to lose their cool is far more powerful and effective than a room full of self-important penguins clucking about and not accomplishing anything.

The greatest blessing of all, the one I am most thankful for, is (of course) _my family_. My parents, who taught me that the rest of the universe may be in perfect order but if your family is in disarray, you have nothing. They showed me how to love wholeheartedly, enabling me to do the same. I only wish we could have had more years together...

Then...Jim and Helen Elgin. They took me in when I was probably at my most unlovable, and firmly but kindly guided me back to the human race, never letting me feel like anything less than one of their own. We weren't related by blood, but you would never have known the difference.

_**Steve**_...my very best friend (even when I hated him). No matter how many times I pushed him away (or even worse, couldn't remember him), he never stopped loving me and always held firmly to the knowledge that we were _supposed_ to be together. That's the very purest sort of love – one with no surety of ever being returned, but steadfast just the same. In our case, it paid off – in spades – with three beautiful, strong, intelligent children.

I know that the three of you have chosen three very different, separate paths in life, but I also know that those paths will always have their side roads....back to each other. When your family is your touchstone, your step will never falter.

- - - - -

_From the Desk of Doctor Rudy Wells_

December 10, 2009

Jaime held on for two more days after writing the previous page. The end for her was peaceful and pain-free and (thankfully) her children were by her side. I am writing this postscript to her legacy so her three children will know what a remarkable woman I have always believed their mother to be.

Jaime was one of the most courageous, warm and loving souls I've ever been privileged to know. She faced her brand-new post-accident life (as a young woman of only 27) with strength and quiet dignity. Every challenge she has ever faced, she saw as an opportunity for growth. If she complained about her troubles, the interludes were brief and only served to get it all out of her system so her true positivity could then shine through.

I know that she loved the three of you (and your father) fiercely, with her entire heart and soul. Her family was her life – everything else was secondary. Always.

I also know you're aware of the overtures she had recently made on my behalf. This morning, I testified before a Senate sub-committee on the nature and the accomplishments of The Bionic Project. The press releases she engineered are due to go out first thing tomorrow. Jaime told me that she intended to see that I was finally recognized for everything I've achieved throughout the years, and even though I told her that seeing her and your father living happy, productive lives was more than enough reward for me, she has seen to it that her promise will be fulfilled.

Perhaps now that bionics will no longer be locked away in a top-secret government vault, I can use whatever number of years I have left to invent new ways to aid the disabled with safer, non-nuclear limbs that will give them new mobility and strength. Your mother and father were the ground breakers, making such innovations possible – and your mother has made certain that it will be allowed to come to pass.

She was quite a woman. I love her, I miss her – and I am forever grateful.

**END**


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